What Happens in Vegas
by SilentG
Summary: In Las Vegas for a conference of women in law enforcement, Eames finds herself in serious trouble. But when Goren arrives, is he actually there to help? Eventually B/A set in S8.
1. ALEXANDRA

**Author:** SilentG  
**Title:** What Happens in Vegas  
**Fandom:** LO:CI  
**Pairing:** B/A  
**Rating:** M  
**Spoilers:** Definitely, see individual chapter A/Ns.  
**Archive:** Anywhere – no need to ask – just attribute, and let me know if possible  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Summary:** In Las Vegas for a conference of women in law enforcement, Eames finds herself in serious trouble. But when Goren arrives, is he actually there to help? 

**A/N 1:** Urgh, I'm feeling the itch to write another WIP. I really hope I don't get the "Finale Flu" making it hard to finish after the Season 9 premiere… but I am fairly confident I'll still feel like writing LO:CI. I have to give credit for the basic plot to a poster "Anchoress" on the USA bulletin board, in the fanfiction section. She gave it to the fanfic community, for which I'm grateful because I suck at plots.

~.~.~.~.~

**CHAPTER ONE: ALEXANDRA**

_New York_

_2:05AM Monday morning_

The light in the hotel room was dim, the appointments luxurious. Eames stood by the end of the bed in a lacy black peignoir, her face suffused with raw desire. Slowly, her eyes never leaving his, she unfastened the translucent robe and allowed it to slip sensuously from her shoulders. Bending over his long legs, she let her hair caress his bare skin as she slowly made her way up his body.

When she reached his hips she straddled him, running her small, strong hands over the now-familiar planes of his chest. Her lips parted as her face took on the classic Eames smirk. "I missed you," she whispered as she leaned down to kiss him.

He reached for her, running his fingers through her hair and over her body. His touch was confident and practiced. "I missed you too, Alexandra."

**o.o.o.o.o**

_Was she with him right now?_ It was just after 11pm in Vegas, they were probably just now getting to bed.

Bobby rolled over and groaned into his pillow. He didn't know what made him madder: the fact that he thought of her as _Eames_ even when he was imagining her with another man, the fact that he was torturing himself with said imaginings _yet_ _again_, or the fact that those thoughts were turning him on. No wonder she'd decamped for the conference without a backward glance despite their recent closeness. Some suitor he was, in his single bed in his bare apartment with his thoroughly professional relationship with his beloved partner. _Yet, she had seemed a bit… No. He must have been imagining it. Why would she be reluctant to spend a week in bed with her husband?_

~.~.~.~.~

**A/N 2:** This fic isn't going to be out of chronological order (as far as I can see so far), but it will be jumping back and forth in time _a little bit_ while it jumps geographically between NY and Vegas. And if anyone's confused, good! It's a bit convoluted, but it'll unfold satisfactorily. This is thoroughly B/A per usual, so don't fret. Even if you're a purist, like me (I don't like to read about them with other gf/bfs in the same fic, even if they end up together), bear with me. I promise it'll turn out.

BTW the only WIP I'm reading is _Blues_ by Unicorn66, and some of her chapters are quite short, so I'm experimenting with that. Not sure if I'll stick with it, we'll see.

If you liked it, hated it, read it, pleeeease _**review!**_

WORDS: 1229 UPLOADED Thursday, March 25, 2010

Edited for section breaks June 28, 2010


	2. OBLIVION

**A/N 1:** I hope that I'm not actually screwing with my readers _too_ much. Well if I am, I'm happy to accept the flames. All I can promise is a happy ending; I can't promise your mind won't dribble out of your ears somewhere along the journey.

~.~.~.~.~

**CHAPTER TWO: OBLIVION**

_Las Vegas_

_12:16AM Monday morning_

Alex lay in bed watching the room spin, hating herself. So drunk she couldn't even hear her companion's quiet breathing. Stifled a giggle at the thought of what she must have looked like on the hotel security cameras, stumbling pie-eyed down the luxurious hallways. On tiptoes, despite the thick carpeting and even thicker walls. How embarrassing. Luckily she was still too drunk to be embarrassed.

Even in her inebriated state, she was honest enough with herself to admit that she'd been reluctant to return to their room this evening, to the person who waited here for her. Stupid reaction, after all this time. Cowardly. But perhaps not unexpected. After all, she wasn't only one kind of coward.

Her mind turned reluctantly to Bobby. She'd promised herself a break from him this week. The same promise she'd made every year… the promise that had been progressively harder to keep.

She'd felt badly about not saying goodbye to him. Truthfully, the closer it came to her departure, the harder it was to face him. She even thought of cancelling. But she _couldn't_. Couldn't give up this too, when she'd already turned her back on so much.

She rolled over carefully, shuddering at the tilt-a-whirl she felt like she was lying on. Ugh, she hadn't been this drunk in _years_. And then, she'd been home, when she could drink herself into blessed oblivion; no need to stay sober enough to use a key card, to quietly slip out of her clothes and into bed.

She'd laughed more than once over the years at how ridiculously enthusiastic Bobby'd been about her trips to Vegas. Actually, the first year she'd been a bit offended; thought he'd been glad to be rid of her. But even then, she'd recognised how genuinely supportive and interested he was regarding issues of equality in their still fairly white and very male profession.

Over the course of their partnership, she'd grown accustomed to his eagerness and curiosity, and eventually grown flattered by the attention he paid her just before and after her trips. She loved counting down her departures with mock pity, making him beg her for the details of her itinerary. She loved regaling him with anecdotes when she returned.

She'd been absurdly hurt by how he'd acted this year before she left.

~.~.~.~.~

Pleeease review!

**A/N 2:** BTW, this _is_ a mystery, and folks may post theories in their reviews. So if you don't want to be spoiled, read reviews with caution. The same goes for hunting down the post with the plot as outlined on the forum.

WORDS: 502 UPLOADED Saturday, March 27, 2010

Edited Friday, July 2, 2010 to re-insert section breaks.


	3. PERIL

**A/N 1:** Mentions of 'All In' and 'Lady's Man', Season 8

~.~.~.~.~

**CHAPTER THREE: PERIL**

_New York  
11:00AM Monday morning_

Bobby arrived at work Monday morning feeling morose. A restless night filled with unwelcome fantasies about Alex making love to someone else had done nothing to improve his already fragile mood.

He couldn't stop thinking about the days before she left. Yes, he had been a bit pissy with her, but could she blame him? This year was different, _they _were different. At least he'd thought so.

He'd known – of course he'd known, from the beginning.

The first year he hadn't really paid attention. She wasn't going to stay anyway, and her personal life was none of his business. He looked back at that time with both envy and exasperation for his younger self. On the one hand, he'd been so single-minded and self-centred that Eames hadn't really existed to him, as a woman, or even as a human being. On the other hand, their relationship had been so much less complicated.

Who was he kidding? He wouldn't go back to that for anything, despite the confusion, guilt and anguish that had come with growing to love her.

The next few years, realising this was a regular thing, he'd felt uneasiness and a twinge of disapproval; the former of which he tried his best to talk himself out of with reminders that she was a grown woman and a capable officer, and the latter of which he did his best to suppress.

Eames didn't catch on of course. He covered his real feelings with feigned cheer. And it wasn't that difficult, really – however unwholesome he might think its reason, there was no denying the infectiousness of her enthusiasm. And the other aspects of her yearly trips were wonderful. He loved that she had a chance to commune with fellow female officers and detectives. He was happy that she had a break from him, and happier that she seemed glad to return. He spent an unhealthy amount of time during her absences thinking about how lucky he was to work with someone so capable, so agreeable, and so savvy about the thin blue line. He imagined that she awed and impressed her sisters in uniform, and that she made lots of friends.

The last couple of years had been harder, now that he'd come to terms with the depths of his own feelings. He was consumed with questions: why would she choose something so shallow, empty, hollow. An echo of what she could have? The answer, however, was hard to face: because that shallow, hollow echo was better than anything or anyone else she'd ever have.

_Better than him._

Of course he hadn't thought in exactly those terms, until this year. After Mulrooney, when they were clicking so well and it seemed like neither of them could deny the undercurrents between them, Bobby was stunned when she reminded him she was going back to Vegas per usual.

_What?_

Alex soldiered on, oblivious to the import of what she'd said, while Bobby sat in stunned silence, trying not to show his devastation.

As her departure approached, he couldn't disguise his irritation, and yes, he took it out on her. Why? It wasn't her fault she wanted to recapture a dream for a few days a year. She hadn't made any promises to him. _The problem was, he felt like they HAD made promises to each other, if only in spirit. _'The tells of the heart,' Josh Snow had called it. When Josh said that, at his stepson's baseball game, Bobby had known instantly what Josh was referring to. He'd seen it, in Bobby. Bobby fancied Josh had also seen it in Alex. At Josh's apartment, he'd turned up the Ten of Clubs. Also known as the Ten of Cups: the card of domestic harmony and conjugal bliss, especially after times of strife and conflict, the happiest card in the Tarot. Josh had asked if Bobby expected to find it there, and he'd thought immediately of Alex. Was that what Josh, the uncanny reader, saw in them? The thought had given him hope. Turned out to be wishful thinking, obviously.

On their last workday before her departure, she'd been withdrawn, distracted. _Eager to be gone_, he'd told himself. She barely spoke two words to him all day, and she left without saying goodbye.

**o.o.o.o.o**

"Goren. Captain wants you." Bobby looked up to see Captain Ross staring at him from his doorway with an unusually serious expression. Since Ross hadn't bellowed, Bobby probably wasn't going to be chewed out. Then why…

_Eames._ "What is it, Captain?" Bobby choked out fearfully as he reached Ross's office. Ross closed the door and drew the blinds.

"Detective Goren." Ross sighed and shook his head, looking pained. "I got a call from LVPD. There's been…" Bobby blanched, felt his throat closing and the edges of his vision growing dark. He clenched his fists and tried to breathe, even as Ross held his hands up in a calming gesture. "No, not – I'm sorry detective, Eames isn't injured." Bobby's fury at Ross for making him think the worst was tempered by the Captain's obvious worry.

"Detective. Bobby." The detective in question started at the use of his first name. "A Vegas ADA called me, as a courtesy. Eames is being held as a material witness, and she's probably going to be charged."

"Charged?" Bobby was aghast, shook his head as if to clear it. "With what?"

"Second degree murder." Ross looked as concerned as Bobby had ever seen him.

"What? Of who?" But Bobby feared he already knew the answer.

~.~.~.~.~

**A/N 2:** Please review! There are lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of people who've read my fics who have never reviewed! Now, I don't mind, really – I'm just super glad people are reading, and I even remember the time when you couldn't review on this site! But it would be so super nice to hear from you! Even if you just review _once_! Even if you flame me! You don't even have to have a FF account.


	4. UNCOUPLED

**A/N 1:** Wow, lots of inner monologue so far. But there will be mucho dialogue in the back half, so you'll get your fix, if you want. Aaand… the frantic PMs have begun. As I said to cifan (check out her fun fics, plz!), 'Expect to be surprised, saddened, touched, and thrilled (I hope!). You'll find out what Goren knows - that Eames is more complex and fragile than most people realise!'

~.~.~.~.~

**CHAPTER FOUR: UNCOUPLED**

_Las Vegas  
One year ago_

"What are you doing here?" He'd found her at the hotel bar, thinking about her partner, their partnership. Her hurtful words, his hurtful silences, how close they'd come to throwing it all away, how far she was willing to go to fix it. "Where's your stuff?"

_What was she doing here? This wasn't like her. _"This isn't like me," she said firmly, not yet showing the effects of the alcohol in her system.

"What?"

"I don't want to do this any more. This isn't me. This isn't who I want to be."

This time last year, she'd been _so_ happy to get away. From Jo and Declan Gage, Wiznesky, Dockerty, Lyons, and from Bobby and his relentless masochism. This year, when she really actually knew how bad it could get, she should be over the moon. But she wasn't. Her mind was on her partner. Did he wonder if she was coming back? Would he ever be better? Had she hurt him too much? Not enough?

She looked at Phillip, sucking her Margarita through a bright pink straw. They'd had seven beautiful weeks together, and she'd been so happy. For years, this had been the highlight of her life. So why, this year, did she make a beeline for the reservation desk at the last minute to ask if there was a spare bed anywhere? She knew why, but she refused to think about it.

Phil leaned in and took her hand. He was so beautiful to her, still. She felt herself softening, and she saw Phil see it. He was a good cop.

"Who do you want to be, Alexandra?" He whispered.

She reached out and caressed his lips with the backs of her fingers. "I want to be alive," she whispered back. _She shouldn't be touching him. This was dangerous. _

"I can make you feel alive," he murmured. So good with words. But he didn't know what he was really saying.

"I know," she said. "You can. You did." She withdrew her fingers from his face and her other hand from his. She downed her drink in one swig and hopped off the bar stool. "My stuff is in my room. MY room. I'm sorry. I didn't really think to let you know because… we both agreed this didn't _mean_ anything." God, she was so sick of stuff not meaning anything. Of being a person who wasn't supposed to care, who people assumed didn't care. "So, since I owe you that much, I'll say goodbye in person. Goodbye, Phillip."

Phillip's soft face crumpled, and he took a step towards her. "I didn't know you _wanted_ it to mean something."

"I didn't." The reality of what she'd been doing these past years coiled in her stomach, making her nauseated. She really needed to get out of here.

"But I already got our usual suite!" Phillip had switched from patient and loving, to manipulative and a little domineering. He'd clearly seen the writing on the wall, and was going on the offensive. He was a good cop.

"Oh please, like you couldn't find someone else to warm your bed!" _Oh please, take the bait and storm off. Let me wallow in peace._

"I don't want anyone else, I want you. I need you." See? Good with words, but again…

"You don't need me. You only see me one week a year." Uh oh. Now she was getting emotional. Shut up, _shut up!_ Now was not the time for the truth to start leaking out. "Not being able to do _without_ someone for one week a year, that's needing someone." She realised instantly that she'd said too much.

"One week a year, huh? Well I hear it gets better with time. A man might not be able to do without you for a week, Alexandra, but I hear he can do without you for five months."

~.~.~.~.~

**A/N 2:** BTW, you pack of voracious, bloodthirsty tiger sharks get a new chapter when the one after it is done. It's necessary in order for me to keep the consistent dribble of interesting info, without giving too much away or frapping the timeline. But keep in mind that reviews help too! Aand… since I can't thank her/him in PM, thanks to anonymous reviewer **law order ci**!

Also… some folks have PM'd me to ask me what I think about 'Loyalty'. I haven't seen it, since I'm in Canada, but in general, while I'm sad that there won't be any more G/E episodes, I feel (silly though it may be) excited for G and E. Assuming they both survive (touch wood), it's a new chapter for them! I feel a sense of anticipation – as if they really were moving on to new things!


	5. DENIAL

**A/N 1:** I was sorely tempted to make this a CI/CSI crossover, but it would have split the focus. I think I will, however, write that type of fic in the future.

~.~.~.~.~

**CHAPTER FIVE: DENIAL**

_Las Vegas  
6:00AM Monday morning_

Alex woke up feeling like shit. She was sore, nauseated, horribly stuffy, and sweating in the sheets she'd twisted around her naked body. She rubbed her browline gingerly while she tried to remember the night before. Did she do something stupid? Was she even in her own room?

The daylight coming through the cracks in the curtains told her it was past her usual waking hour. So she was probably alone. She turned her head slowly and saw her own suitcase on the club chair beside the bed. _Whew. Thank god for small favours._ She closed her eyes. Slowly, the previous night was coming back to her. The bar, the drinks. Stumbling down the hallway like a lush. The sadness, the loneliness, knowing who was waiting for her in her room. The self-loathing, for still needing to numb herself somehow. The shame.

What was she _doing_ here?

She licked her teeth and lips to try to get the sour taste out of her mouth. She wasn't yet up to hoisting herself up and into the bathroom. She thought about what the rest of the week was going to be like. What were people saying about her? Her past? Her work with Bobby at MCS? Pity, scorn, righteous anger, _schadenfreude_? Had she actually gotten what was coming to her?

Yeah, she probably had.

She'd shat where she ate, and now everybody knew it. And some of them had probably guessed why. And if she wasn't really careful, Bobby would know too, and then what would he think of her?

**o.o.o.o.o**

After 10 minutes or so, Alex began to grow impatient with her stomach, and decided to ignore it and try getting up. She'd carefully run over the evening in her mind and decided that she'd lucked out and made it to bed unmolested. Again with the small favours. And the room was dead quiet, so she was right about being alone. But just to be safe, she carefully clutched the sheet around her as she propped herself upright at the side of the bed.

In an instant, the room and her stomach turned circles. Closing her eyes didn't help, and she had to cover her mouth and make a run for the toilet. When she turned, the sheet wrapped tightly around her legs, making her tumble to her knees. She held it close around her, because she could see a shape in the other bed – her roommate was still asleep. Whatever was still in her stomach started pressing against her throat, making her eyes and mouth water, not pleasantly. She breathed deeply, through her mouth, trying to be quiet.

She had to crawl a couple of feet before the sheet loosened. She looked up to see if she could safely prop herself up on Carruthers' bed without waking her. What she saw wasn't Carruthers.

Not any more. The body had been clumsily eviscerated, its innards strewn over her half of the room as if a creature from a 70s sci-fi had sprung straight through her abdominal wall. Shallow, awkward stab wounds marred the upper body, but not the hands or wrists. Carruthers' face was waxen, her black hair seeming dulled, her body oddly peaceful despite the violence of its end.

Alex's stomach finally got its way.

~.~.~.~.~

**A/N 2:** The small 'g' God isn't my thing; I don't know if it's Canon or not, but I'm under the strong impression that Eames is an atheist, so it's a nod to my understanding of her beliefs. Also, someone suggested I make the chapters longer. I usually aim for over 1500 words, but I'm experimenting with something new – one scene, and in particular, one POV per chapter. So that's why they're shorter than usual. BTW, the hardest part of this fic so far was writing Eames's discovery of the body. It was bloody difficult! Definitely didn't butter my parsnips. Hope it butters yours.

WORDS: 710 UPLOADED Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Edited Friday, July 2, 2010 to fix section breaks


	6. COLLUSION

**A/N 1:** Some folks want to make Phillip into a bad guy… he's not a bad guy, he's pretty OK, actually. He's just a guy who wants to keep having sex, with a woman he cares about a tiny bit more than he should.

~.~.~.~.~

**CHAPTER SIX: COLLUSION**

_New York  
2:30PM Monday afternoon_

Bobby sat in the back seat of the cab staring at his cell phone the whole way to the airport. _Why hadn't she called?_

Remarkably, after he'd gotten over the shock to his system that Ross's news had incited, the Captain had taken Bobby out of the office for a coffee. And a private talk, Bobby learnt to his surprise.

"Detective. We're flying you out to Vegas this afternoon. But we need to talk first." It was back to _Detective_, thank God. Bobby was too nauseated for coffee, so while Ross sucked back a grande something as they sat on a bench across the street from 1PP, he just sipped a gingerale.

"OK, he mumbled, checking his phone for missed calls. "What – what do I need to know?"

Stupid question. But his mind wasn't working. _Fuck!_ Why did this always happen? He needed to clear his head: Of Eames on her back, trading herself for a familiar face… sitting in lockup, friendless… sitting in lockup, turning to _him_ for help… so mad at her partner or disappointed that she'd rather do any or all of the above than phone him.

"We?" he said belatedly. "Is the Chief of D's getting involved in this?"

"No," Ross said shortly, "Your presence has been requested." Ross's voice dripped with disdain.

"What? By LVPD?" That made no sense. The partner of a cop under suspicion is the last person a team wants anywhere near the case. _Unless_… Bobby frowned as the anger bubbled up. "Captain, if you expect me to go out there and help them bury my own partner, then–" He jumped up in agitation as Ross again held his hands up in a placating gesture.

"Detective! Goren! Of course not," he shook his head, "Of course we're not. Just _listen_." Bobby began pacing in front of the Captain, shaking his head. "I know I don't have Eames' magic touch, but would you just shut up and listen?" Bobby wanted to jump down his boss's throat for throwing Eames's name around so cavalierly, but he took a deep breath and reminded himself of two things: a) that a lot of the friction between the two men stemmed from Ross's habit of expressing himself injudiciously, and b) Ross was just contrary enough to obstruct an agency prosecuting one of his officers. He sat down and slowly nodded his head.

"OK Captain, OK." He looked at Ross and questioned him silently. _Do you think she did it_?

"Of course no-one believes that Detective Eames is guilty of murder, Detective. The important thing is what LVPD thinks, or more importantly, what they can prove." Bobby sighed in relief and nodded. Ross leaned in and lowered his voice. "The ADA and the Homicide team investigating the murder seem to have a lot of intel on you, Detective. Your various… ups and downs." Bobby's stomach balled up with foreboding. He knew what that could mean, and he hated that Ross knew too. Had Eames been talking about them? And to whom?

"But it's old." Bobby's head, bent with anxiety, jerked up. Ross was looking at him meaningfully. "The ADA seems under the impression that you two are on the outs. She thinks you would be amenable to giving some insight into your partner. I agreed to let you go out there and _assist_ her. I trust you'll do your very best." In other words, try his very best to help Eames.

Ross and Bobby locked eyes, and Bobby's shoulders sagged with relief. "I think I can do that, sir," he said, nodding.

"I'm sure you can, Detective. At least, that's what I told the ADA." Both men stood up and began the walk back to 1PP. "I don't kid myself that I'm quite in your league, Detective, when it comes to reading people, but over the phone she gave the impression of a pit bull with ADD. She was insistent, but all over the place. I'm getting you a dossier of her past year or two's cases, so you can get a feel for what she'll be going for." Bobby murmured his thanks. "Goren. If you want to be of any use to your partner, you'll have to be _very_ careful. That place is a china shop: don't barge in." Bobby snorted in frustration, then stopped abruptly as Ross nodded. "My point exactly, Detective. Get your bullish tendencies out before you hit Pacific Standard Time."

"Fine, Captain," Bobby said truculently, then relented. "Captain – I just…"

Ross waved it away. "Don't strain yourself, Detective. I _do_ try to take care of my people, no matter what you might think."

They walked in silence, until Bobby asked his Captain the details of the crime. For the first time, Ross looked uncomfortable. "Uh, the details the ADA gave me were sketchy. I asked her to get some files to us before you leave, and if not, you'll get caught up once you arrive in Vegas." Ross spent the rest of the walk concentrating with his cell phone and avoiding Bobby's gaze, and Bobby let him. He didn't know if Ross was trying to spare his feelings (if so, how did he _know_ how Bobby felt) or trying to save Eames from having her personal life discussed by her boss; either way, Bobby let it go.

But why hadn't Eames called him?

~.~.~.~.~

**A/N 2:** On the topic of the last epi, I'm just glad they both survived. I know some shippers are disappointed by the ending (I haven't seen it, BTW), but IMO it sounds like the whole thing was written for the fanfic community. So many possibilities! :rubs hands together:

WORDS: 1064 UPLOADED Saturday, March 27, 2010

Edited Friday, July 2, 2010 to fix section breaks

Further notes: After I posted this, someone told me that LV is Mountain time, not PST, but in Wikipedia it says PST. So… that's how it stays.


	7. DISSOLUTIONMENT

**A/N 1:** Sorry this took so long. It's getting to the tough part (the interrogations), and I needed to think hard about what Eames revealed when, and to whom. BTW, anyone watch "The Good Wife"? Two of Goren's bad girls have had guest spots: Martha Plimpton (Jo Gage), and Francie Swift (Nelda Carlson).

~.~.~.~.~

**CHAPTER SEVEN: DISSOLUTIONMENT**

_New York  
Two months ago_

Her cell phone rang just as she'd finished packing her gym bag. _Phillip._ "Hello?" They'd never spoken between conferences before. She didn't even know how he got her number? Maybe the same way he got all his information.

"Hey. Have a minute?"

She didn't want to talk to him, but she was too tired to lie.

"Yeah, what is it?" She was rubbing lip gloss over and over her lips to keep from picking at her cuticles.

"Are you going this year?"

Funny question. Alex tossed her head in irritation, but beneath it was relief. This wasn't as difficult as it could have been; over the phone, Phillip's charm was less in evidence.

Unlike the first time she'd met him. His lanky height and easy good looks would have made him stand out anywhere, but as one of the only male programmers of the National Women in Law Enforcement Annual Conference, he'd been impossible to miss.

"Why? Was my credit card declined?"

"_Alexandra,"_ he whispered.

"Yes, I'm going," she said briskly, sighing and picking up her bag. "And no, I haven't changed my mind." She wondered if he knew, if he suspected. If he did, god, it could get ugly.

"You're so sure that's why I called?"

She sniffed disdainfully. Ever the cop. Well two could play… "Yes. You have things you want to say to me, but you won't say them over the phone, because seeing my face is an important part of your read on me. You like to have a plan, and also, you're lazy. You don't want to bother coming up with something if I'm not going to show, but you want me to be a bit on edge and off-kilter if I am."

He hung up.

~.~.~.~.~

**A/N 2:** The chapter title is not a typo.

WORDS: 381 UPLOADED Saturday, May 22, 2010


	8. STRICKEN

**A/N 1:** Chapter spoilers for: _Amends_, Season 7, _Purgatory_, Season 7, _My Good Name_, Season 4.

~.~.~.~.~

**CHAPTER EIGHT: STRICKEN**

_Las Vegas  
9:30AM Monday morning_

Alex sat in the squad car trying to figure out why her stomach hurt. "Miss, are you OK? Miss, uh, Eames?"

_Detective_. Alex realised she'd been unconsciously waiting for Goren to correct him. Suddenly she missed her partner so very much.

She was riding to Homicide in the presence of a full (if somewhat ignominious) honour guard; a uniform drove, with the ADA riding shotgun and another uniform in the back with her. She tried to feel either flattered or irritated by the treatment, but all she could muster was despair.

She cleared her throat. "I, uh…" she said hoarsely. From long habit, she balked at admitting that she was feeling poorly. Unfortunately, her seatmate was apparently a budding profiler with more empathy than decorum.

"If you're feeling sick, let me know, OK? We'll pull over, get EMT if necessary, whatever you need. Just don't barf in the squad car," he declared helpfully. The ADA – whose name Alex was ashamed to admit she couldn't recall – turned in the seat and looked at her as if feeling nauseated was tantamount to an admission of guilt.

_What was wrong with her?_ Nina was dead, murdered. Most likely by someone they both knew, someone at the conference. She had been killed shortly before Alex returned to their room. When Alex clawed away at the numbness, she felt the horror and terror of that act. Was that it? No.

She herself was clearly a suspect. She had been treated disrespectfully and even scornfully by her fellow officers and detectives. She was on the receiving end of suspicion and indignity. The fact that she knew she was innocent was of small comfort. Well, was it that? Nope.

Alex realised why her stomach hurt. This wasn't the worst she'd ever felt, and it certainly wasn't the most perilous situation she'd ever been in, but she'd never felt so alienated, so _wrong_, in the midst of so much blue. She'd never felt so as if she didn't belong, among these brothers and sisters with whom she shared so much.

Except no.

That wasn't it.

Not entirely.

The uniform was looking at her nervously. Actually, they both were, the driver courtesy of the rear-view mirror. She was clutching her knees and breathing deeply but raggedly, trying to prevent the ache that bloomed in her heart from crawling up her throat and out her stinging eyes. _Of all the times to have a life-changing revelation._

She scrunched her face up, trying to _force_ the tears back, if not through sheer will, then through pure muscle power.

Oh god, no. _No._ She didn't belong along the thin blue line, not anymore. _She knew that. She'd known it during the Beltran case, maybe even as early as Adair. Certainly by Testarossa. _She belonged with Bobby, _to_ Bobby. He was home to her, and even when she hung on the hook in Jo's monstrous basement, she'd felt like someone's partner, Bobby's partner. Not alone.

What smacked her in the gut, what made her gag on her own tears, wasn't that in ten years, she'd never had to worry or even _think_ about being disrespected, because Bobby wouldn't allow it. Hadn't had to worry about an uncouth uniform grabbing her arm, because it never happened. Hadn't had to remind anyone that she was a detective. She wasn't fragile or girly; she didn't need her partner to be her champion.

But he was. Oh god, he was. For a _brief_ time after Jo Gage, she'd resented Bobby for focusing on Declan, for not _rescuing_ her. But then she realised. Even though they were apart, they were solving the problem together; while she was working on getting free, he was working on finding her by understanding the perp. And they did it. Together.

Suddenly she was afraid she _was_ going to throw up. _She was such an idiot!_

Back at her ho– _at the crime scene_ – she'd been fine with the uniforms who'd been the first to arrive, calmly and professionally relating all the relevant details. She'd been fine with the event organisers and the hotel executives, and even with the homicide detectives, who'd picked over her initial statement with familiar but nonetheless disconcerting zeal.

But when the ADA had arrived, teeth bared, in a cloud of perfume and scepticism, she'd fallen apart. Alex cringed in embarrassment, thinking of how she'd practically begged the woman not to call Ross at Major Case. How stupid could she be? It was as if all her reason, all her understanding of police procedure, all her detachment had flown out the window. _She was better than that. _Wasn't she?

The woman had merely pursed her lips and said something bland about balancing the privacy of witnesses against the pursuit of justice, but Alex had seen the glint in her eye. That said there was blood in the water, and Ross most certainly _would _be called, and probably pursued with more thoroughness than if Alex had kept her stupid mouth shut.

For a moment, standing there at the crime scene almost dizzy with helplessness, Alex had reflexively wished for Goren's presence. She'd looked up at the ADA and wondered which way Goren would clean the floor with her, if he were here. _Unless he was attracted to her_, the devil on her shoulder whispered, _then he'd forget up from down, right from wrong… he'd forget about __**you**_.

And she'd actually believed it. Ridiculous. Ridiculous! Bobby would never, ever, _ever_ let her come to harm, no matter how he felt or about whom. Bobby was blind sometimes, maybe even a poor judge of character despite his eerie profiling abilities, but to her he was unflaggingly loyal.

Which made it even so much worse that she could _never_ ask him for help.

~.~.~.~.~

**A/N 2:** I hope this is OK. I have struggled for literally _months_ over the exposition that I had to get out in this scene, and after tripping over the hanks of hair all over the floor, I started over and re-wrote the scene in a different setting with a slightly different tone. I'm really happy with it, but I wrote it in about an hour, and I'm posting it right away.

WORDS: 1071 UPLOADED Friday, July 2, 2010


	9. IN MEDIAS RES

**A/N 1:** Writing this fic is like solving a Rubik's Cube – a little shift this way, a little shift that way, two steps forward, one step back. I hope that nothing else in this fic is as difficult as the previous chapter (Chapter 8), although if it is, I (and you, my dear readers) can hopefully be comforted by the fact that finally figuring out that chapter has made the next several much easier to write.

~.~.~.~.~

**CHAPTER NINE: IN MEDIAS RES**

_Somewhere over upstate New York  
4PM Monday afternoon_

…_**subject Eames, a conference attendee, reports waking up at approximately oh-six-hundred hours to find the deceased Detective Ernestine Julia Carruthers (known as "Nina Carruthers"), her roommate and fellow conference attendee…**_

_Why didn't the attending officers just let Eames write out her own statement?_

Bobby was in an aisle seat in First Class, trying to sort out the reasoning behind the direction of the investigation from the notes Ross got to him just before he departed.

…_**upon attending the crime scene at oh-six-fifteen hours, Suite 2122 at the Mandalay Bay Hotel, subject Detective Alexandra Jane Eames (known as "Alex Eames") was observed standing in the hallway outside the suite, in the custody of hotel security…**_

_Detective First Grade, NYPD Major Case was 'in custody'? Of hotel security?_

Bobby frowned as he looked over at the seat next to him, blessedly empty but for the crime scene photos he'd strewn about. He picked up an array of photos of the body and the room; he noticed Eames's bare right foot in one of them, pale and neatly manicured, with shimmery pink nailpolish. He shuddered slightly at his body's reaction to beholding this part of her anatomy, never before revealed to him, innocent though it was. _Now was not the time._

…_**subject Eames' keycard used at zero-hundred hours fourteen on Monday morning. Subject claims to have been at the hotel bar. Credit card activity does not confirm…**_

_Was she at the bar? Or was she…_ He couldn't think about it right now, even if it was pertinent to the case. Maybe he wouldn't be a help to her after all.

Goren shook his head to re-focus. It was difficult. Some of the crime scene photos showed Eames in the background, standing outside the suite looking small and fragile, alone. When he looked at the pictures of the vic his throat tightened. She'd slept in the bed next to _that_. She'd woken up to _that_. Maybe it would have been better if she had been with… _him_. And now she was a suspect. He resisted the urge to pound his fist into the array of photos next to him.

Forcing himself to put his emotions aside, Goren read the rest of the uniform's report. Halfway through the flight, Ross emailed him the video of Eames's interview at LVPD.

**o.o.o.o.o**

After the flight attendants had served and cleared dinner, he plugged in his laptop headphones and loaded the video.

The interview room was larger and darker than theirs at Major Case, but the walls were the same institutional grey. Eames was already seated; the video started just as the detectives and the ADA stepped in.

Watching her look up – composure, apprehension and resignation all showing on her face – he felt himself suffused with intense longing. He suddenly couldn't remember being angry or disappointed by her behaviour; all he felt was desire to show her his love, his loyalty. To protect both her strength and her fragility, rather than hiding his own. She was so beautiful to him it was almost painful. How could she be anything but his? Whatever she thought Phil Becker was giving her, it wasn't much, and it wasn't real. _He_ was real. He was real, and they would fix this, like they always did. And then they'd figure things out.

"Please state your name for the record." A no-nonsense, middle-aged male detective was speaking.

"Alexandra Jane Eames, Detective First Grade, NYPD." Her voice was cool and steady, and Goren allowed himself to be lulled for a few moments into the comforting rhythm of her.

"Please just answer the question, Ms Eames. Your credentials are irrelevant to the investigation." That was the ADA Judith Dreyfeus. Goren paused the video for a few seconds, trying to intuit the reason behind her disrespectful attitude. What happened to professional courtesy? What did she hope to gain?

"Please state, in your own words, everything you recall regarding the murder of Nina Carruthers, starting with your arrival in Las Vegas." The other detective, a serious-looking Latina about Eames's age, asked the question.

"And keep in mind that we have all read carefully the statement you gave to the uniforms." The ADA again. Goren was starting to get irritated. And worried.

**o.o.o.o.o**

"…Is it your claim that the last time you saw the deceased Nina Carruthers alive was before dinner that evening, at approximately 5:45pm?"

Despite the many interruptions by the ADA, Eames had managed to get her story out, although she flinched more at each barked question, and seemed to wilt and shrink as those questions got more demanding, more personal. Bobby's heart ached for her.

"Yes," she managed. She seemed to have something in her throat.

"And you further claim that that interaction, which took place in your room, was acrimonious?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Please repeat that for the record."

"Yes," she said more forcefully.

"Attitude isn't going to help you, detective." The two investigating detectives had a very good rhythm going in their interrogation; too bad Dreyfeus kept interrupting them.

Eames ducked her head down and to the side the way she did when she was uncomfortable. Other than that, she sat stock still.

"And what did you fight about?"

**o.o.o.o.o**

Goren closed the video window with a mixture of relief and resolve, despite Eames's precarious position. _She loved him_. He wasn't absolutely certain, but after that torture session of an interview and what she revealed (despite trying desperately not to), he was pretty sure.

When he'd realised she wasn't going to call him, his fear had been that she didn't want to turn to him because she thought he was weak. Because in his darkest moments, that's what he secretly thought of himself… He was weak and he couldn't be trusted, and the person who knew him best of all surely knew that, despite his taking great pains to hide it. His second thought was that she was punishing him for his many secrets. Turnabout is fair play. His third was that she simply had a better offer from a better man.

But after seeing that video, he realised the truth. She was ashamed, of the secret she thought she was keeping from him. _She was ashamed_. She wanted to hide what she saw as a weakness, an indiscretion, perhaps even a betrayal… and try to make her way back to him, as he had done so many times.

Even if she didn't love him, his path was clear. He wasn't going to allow her reticence to get in the way of clearing her, and he was going to work with her to fix things.

**o.o.o.o.o**

After carefully reading the casefile (watching Eames's interview twice), Goren read some of the ADA's old cases with a sinking feeling. As far as Eames's case was concerned, his course of action was fairly clear. The disturbing variable was Dreyfeus. What was her angle? What did she have against Eames? Goren had his suspicions, but he wanted more information. As the plane circled Las Vegas, he emailed Ross to ask him for anything he could turn up on the ADA's background.

~.~.~.~.~

**A/N 2:** Reviews do _**not**_ make me write more or try harder… they just make me happy.

WORDS: 1320 UPLOADED Monday, July 5, 2010


	10. PROCUREMENT

**CHAPTER TEN: PROCUREMENT**

_Las Vegas  
7:30PM Monday evening_

"What did you do?" Dreyfeus was hanging breathlessly to his every word. She wasn't exactly making a pass at him, but she was sitting closer than was strictly necessary, and the hand that rested on her lighter had twitched slightly to touch his six times already.

He'd been telling her about some of his most notorious cases. He told her how he'd found the real killer of AmberLeigh, how he'd solved the Dockerty murder, how he'd put Frank Adair in jail.

"I realised that someone was trying to… to gaslight me." Goren was cool in a dove grey silk suit with a white shirt and puce tie – Eames's favourite. He'd taken extra care with his appearance tonight. He had only one chance, and the importance of this meeting had him on edge. So far, things had worked out better than he'd hoped; he hadn't had to chase down the ADA and finesse a meeting with her… she'd called and suggested it shortly after he landed. It was his good fortune that, for such a women-hater, she had so little comprehension of how far a man would go to protect one.

So here they were, in a dark bar somewhere on the strip. She'd suggested meeting him at his hotel, but he'd declined, preferring more neutral ground. Besides, he couldn't risk Dreyfeus even coming near his room; he'd ordered a double, because he intended to get Eames out _tonight_.

"Who?"

"Well, it had to be – someone who knew me well. That meant either Gage or my brother, or maybe – Eames." He hoped Dreyfeus didn't hear him stutter over her name. "My brother was… dead, and Eames, well –" he injected a note of derision into the word, "Eames didn't have it in her, so… it had to be Gage."

Dreyfus shivered slightly. Goren knew she was trying to show a positive response to his chauvinistic rendition of the events of his and Eames's final cat-and-mouse with Wallace and Gage, but he pretended to misunderstand. "Cold?" he asked solicitously, gently tugging her flimsy shrug up around her shoulders. Dreyfeus thought of herself as demure and ladylike, and so he acted like he thought so too.

Not too long ago, it wouldn't have been an act. It took many years and many instances of letting himself be drawn in by blatant artifice (as long as it came in a helpless, soft-voiced package), to gain the insight that allowed him to stay impartial. Ironically, as now, he'd come upon that realisation in a five-month long dark night during which a true lady, his most explicit equal, was far away and inaccessible to him.

How he longed to be with her now! While awaiting his luggage at the airport, he'd actually concocted a complex scenario wherein he cancelled with Dreyfeus and managed to talk his way into lockup to see her. But he knew he couldn't do it. He _had_ to convince the ADA that she could rely on him as an objective investigator, and to do that, he couldn't risk any contact with Eames outside the interview room. As Dreyfeus excused herself to use the ladies' room, he allowed himself a brief daydream about seeing her… he'd step into the cell, hold his arms out to her. She'd walk (not run) to him and he'd hold her tight and whisper into her hair that everything would be OK. He'd wrap his jacket around her and kiss her forehead.

But, for everything to be OK, he had work to do. With the physical evidence, the known facts about her relationship to the deceased, and what she'd revealed in the interview, she was a viable suspect. And with the ADA against her, she was in trouble.

**o.o.o.o.o**

"So, tell me about Eames."

This was going to be delicate. "Hey… I'm not here to give the prosecution shortcuts to convict a cop," he said with a shit-eating grin, holding his hands up. "Actually," he continued, manufacturing a cute little frown, "I'm not entirely certain what I can help you do." He looked at her earnestly and with what he hoped was veiled sexual interest. "Not that I don't want to try."

Dreyfeus smiled and leaned towards him. "I'm not asking you to bury your partner." Goren did his best not to react to her insincerity. "As I said to your Captain, I'm asking for your experience, and your insight."

"Into suspects? Or into Eames?"

Dreyfeus shrugged delicately. "We just want the truth."

"And you don't think your team can get it? I saw the investigators, they seemed to have a good bead as far as I could make out."

She sighed and shook her head. "I think you're giving them a little too much credit. You saw from the interview what we're up against with Eames. She knows all the tricks."

Goren thought defending Eames a tiny bit wouldn't be out of place. "Everyone connected to a murder lies, prevaricates and negotiates. You can't blame her for acting like a scared witness."

"Oh come on. All we want is the truth. She's hiding something, I saw it. Don't tell me you didn't?" Goren did see it. He suspected he knew exactly what 'it' was, although it wasn't something he wanted to think about. But it was irrelevant what Eames was hiding – because she was innocent, and whatever it was wouldn't be anything pertinent to the case. The investigating team got that, which was why they weren't as keen on crucifying Eames as the ADA was.

But it wouldn't do to say that. Goren inhaled sharply through his nose. "I…"

Dreyfeus put a reassuring hand on his wrist. "All we need from you is to review the evidence, have a bit of a heads-together with the team, and use your legendary interview skills to figure out what your partner is hiding. Remember… all we want is the truth."

Goren grinned, trying to look flattered and interested. "I'm concerned that my presence could be construed as a conflict of interest… might hinder the prosecution of – of the, uh, perp."

Dreyfeus smirked and squeezed his bicep. "Why don't you let me worry about the prosecution. If it starts to look like a conflict of interest, I'll pull the plug. I doubt that will happen." Translation: She was sure it was Eames, and didn't think his helping her bring Eames down would be a conflict of interest.

Goren nodded his head. "OK, yeah, OK." While the situation seemed dire, he was getting more of a read on Dreyfeus, and she was warming to him just the way he'd hoped. He didn't feel good about what was coming next, but it was necessary. "So what have you told Eames about my role?"

"Nothing, yet. How do you want to play it?"

_How do I want to play it? You into my hands and Eames out of yours._ He sighed. "I think it's better…" Christ, he hated this, "To catch her off guard. Don't tell her anything."

Dreyfeus's eyes widened in admiration. "Whatever you say."

**o.o.o.o.o**

He let her buy a couple more rounds and pretended not to notice that she was palming hers, then waited for it.

"So, Eames. What's your relationship like?" Ham-handed.

"Relationship?" he slurred, "We have none. We work together. I don't think she's had a relationship with a living person in years."

Dreyfeus looked down and shrugged delicately. "Hmmm… Making Detective First Grade is challenging for a woman. What it costs her in her work can spill over to her personal life."

_Don't pretend to know what it cost her to do what she does, to be who she is._ "Making detective doesn't make you controlling, withholding and unforgiving."

"You make it sound like you used to be a lot… closer?" Dreyfeus leaned in and rested two fingers on the pulse point of his wrist.

Goren did his best to look bleary. "You gotta be kidding."_ Tap that?_ Was the unspoken coda.

She stifled a smirk. "Well, to be honest, from where I'm sitting she doesn't appear like a natural… _fit_." They both laughed. "But… from what I've heard, she used to be stuck to you like glue."

What she'd _heard_? From whom? Goren hated it, but now was the time to really jump in. "Used to be? Well, used to be I trusted her. Used to be, she had my back."

"Couldn't have been easy for her, trying to keep up with someone so much more brilliant and worldly." _Aah, so gracious in victory._

"Couldn't have been easy for me, with all the liabilities of a marriage without any of the perks."

Dreyfeus raised her eyebrows sceptically. Goren smirked.

"OK, yeah, I give in. We were closer once, but not the way you think," he waved his drink at her as he spoke. "Truth is, I depended on her. Too much. For things I should have been taking care of myself. Maybe it was my fault, that she got cocky. Thought she had a place in my life that she never could. Didn't want to give up the power she thought she had. Thought that we were…" He deliberately trailed off.

"Equals."

He thought he was going to barf.

**o.o.o.o.o**

Before heading down to the station to see Eames, he had one more hurdle to get over. He hoped he'd done enough to soften up the ADA.

"I'll interview Eames first, of course, I'd like to get started tonight. If that's OK with you and the team?"

Dreyfeus looked at him in surprise. "Of course. I'll set it up."

Goren nodded. "And I'll be talking to some of the other players, too."

Her admiring gaze chilled somewhat. "Other players?"

He smiled gently and put his hand in the small of her back. "Uh, some of the deceased's known associates here at the conference? I gather it's still going on?"

Dreyfeus nodded.

Here goes. "And, uh, Becker? Has he been interviewed yet?"

She looked at him suspiciously. "No, not yet. He's not a suspect."

"No, of course not. But she was his girlfriend, so…"

~.~.~.~.~

**A/N 1:** I borrowed my absolute favourite description of Eames from a wonderful fic called _Intercession_ by Scripted Scarlet. Also, there's a shout-out to a wonderful WIP, _Blues _– see if you can find it! Also, if anyone's confused after this chapter, you'll learn more soon, when Goren tells Ross his impressions of Dreyfeus based on her background.

Also, Oh LORD, I have begun to consider thinking of toying with the idea of an unbelievably audacious multi-chaptered B/A fic… I can't promise it will ever bathe in the reflected glow of anyone's monitor but mine – it is a frighteningly ambitious idea, with total AU/AR, the dead resurrected, all bets unhedged, romance, a casefile, and character development through agonising soul-searching and unwelcome revelations. My head is swimming with ideas about it – all except the ending. If I can't figure out a satisfying ending, an "I see dead people" level of ending, I won't write it.

_**Please, pretty please, make my day and leave a review!**_

WORDS: 1845 UPLOADED Friday, July 23, 2010


	11. REFRACTORY PERIOD

**A/N 1:** Sorry for the long wait! The characters kept bugging me with tiny little, conflicting details they insisted I include. Also, I lied. In the first chapter, I said that this fic wouldn't jump back and forth chronologically. This is the first of many chapters… I have basically written the whole middle third of this fic. It just needs some polishing. Then it's on to the interrogation(s)! Brief mentions of several Seasons 6, 7, and maybe 8 episodes.

~.~.~.~.~

**CHAPTER ELEVEN: REFRACTORY PERIOD**

_Las Vegas  
4PM Sunday afternoon_

For the first time in 11 years, she didn't want to be here.

As she took the welcome package being handed to her by a twitchy woman about her own age who looked like she'd smelled something foul, Alex thought about just turning tail and running away.

There was no reason for anyone here to care about what had happened between her and Phillip; the two of them had both been single and discreet, and anyways, hookups were par for the course at conferences of every stripe. Not that she'd ever thought of herself as a _hookup girl_, but there you go.

But it was clear that _they_ did. Care. And in a trice, she was twenty-something again, on her first day at the Academy, her father telling her to listen to her gut and never do anything as a cop she'd be ashamed to tell her family. Every _I told you so_ she'd ever heard hooking into her skin like burrs.

It had started last year, actually. After she dumped Phil in the bar – admittedly an unclassy move, although she wouldn't have taken it back for the world – she'd been stuck on what he'd said about her and men… a clear reference to the events between Tates and Testarossa. The events between her and Bobby.

She'd never thought of Phil as a vengeful person, and although he was a good investigator, she didn't think he cared enough about her to follow her progress or delve into her personal life, but it appeared she was wrong. Alex didn't have many real friends here, but she'd asked one woman she trusted, if there had been gossip. She'd learnt that she and Bobby, and Phil, were the talk of the conference. Someone knew a lot, and they'd been spreading it around. Not only about her affair with Phillip and their breakup, but about hers and Bobby's private and professional activities back in New York.

Joe's name had even been mentioned.

_These people were law enforcement._ People she loved to boast about being the best of the best, at the top of their game. After she and Bobby had arrested Manny Beltran, Joe's picture had been in the paper, along with Quinn, Delgado, both perps, the investigators and Moran.

A year had gone by, but it seemed nothing had been forgotten. Other participants looked askance at her, and the reactions from people of long acquaintance was chilly.

She stepped off to the side after checking in, feeling glum. The thought of people knowing about her, _talking about her_, and worse yet about Bobby, filled her with dread and despair. Losing the support and friendship of these women over _stupid fucking Phillip of all people_. Or to put it another way, _fucking stupid Phillip_, she thought with irony. Bringing judgement and hostility upon herself, and exposing the vulnerabilities and indiscretions of her most precious, beloved relationship. _What had she done? And how was she going to get through this week?_

Yes, she'd been happy with Phillip, and she'd told herself so many times that she'd needed that relationship, but clearly, it hadn't been worth it. Looking around at all the clever faces, she cringed at her own stupidity. The more people knew the truth about her indiscretion, the greater likelihood Bobby would find out. And that she could not bear. Of all the men in the world she could have chosen…

As she looked down the line of greeting tables, she saw the back of Phillip's head. He was turned away, talking to the woman sitting next to him. These people were cops. They'd soon put it together. And if they couldn't, it seemed that Phil would probably help them along.

**o.o.o.o.o**

After briefly entertaining the notion of just taking her bag and walking out, she gave herself a stern talking to. Told herself to pull it together, shake it off, and soldier on. She'd done it before. She wasn't going to let her late-blooming shame over her choice of lovers, or the fallout thereto, keep her from sticking it out. And having a good time, dammit!

As she made her way to the elevators that would take her up to her room, Alex knew that the subtle difference in how people were treating her wasn't just in her mind. She felt as she had at the Quinns' house after the funeral; mistrusted, mocked, the object of whispers.

Before the doors closed, Phillip stepped into the elevator, along with the woman he'd been talking to. The twice-familiar Lieutenant looked tousled and relaxed – more relaxed than she'd ever seen him. The petite woman looked demurely at Alex's feet, giving her a good look at the brunette's unremarkable features. Then Phil grunted and she looked up at him, and Alex's eyebrows rose in surprise… Phil's companion (for that's what she surely was) transformed, becoming instantly beautiful, and Alex knew exactly why. _Aaah, so this is how it is._

"Alexandra," Phil murmured, "Have you met Nina?"

She racked her brain. "I…"

"Carruthers," the brunette said, holding her hand out. "From Tahoe. We sat at the same table at breakfast a few times, and I was a co-presenter of the Forensics Core Competencies seminar last year; I'm sure you wouldn't remember." She spoke humbly and without rancor.

Before she could reply, Phil continued. "So, is now a good time for that conversation you were convinced I wanted to have in person?"

~.~.~.~.~

**A/N 2:** In my mind, Nina Carruthers has the same chameleon quality as Julianna Margulies (and Kathryn Erbe, for that matter)… they are women whose beauty comes not from their features, but from their hearts. JM is who I pictured when I wrote the elevator scene.

Pleeease review! Reviews make my cheeks plump and my lips pink! In other words, they stop me from turning into a lifeless china doll…

WORDS: 1079 UPLOADED Thursday, September 30, 2010


	12. MITZVAH

**A/N 1:** Don't think I've ever written Ross before. I was struggling with the chapter after this one, and Ross piped up and told me to let him open, he'd get Goren started. Actually I think he said he would 'Get Goren going'.

~.~.~.~.~

**CHAPTER TWELVE: MITZVAH**

_11__th__ floor, 1PP, New York  
8PM Monday evening_

It was after eight, but Captain Ross was still at his desk. He looked at the clock – if Goren's flight was on time, he would have landed almost 20 minutes ago. He looked at his department phone, with few lights blinking, then glanced at his cell. Ross's laptop was open, and papers and photographs littered his desk; he had all the same files as Goren, and he'd been reviewing them all afternoon and evening.

As Eames had requested, he'd kept quiet about her detention and arrest. Even her family didn't know. He'd been able to arrange for counsel and union representation with a couple of discreet calls, and he'd managed to get word about her from a friend in Vegas PD.

Aside from that, he'd stayed out of it. Reluctantly. A part of him had resisted putting his best detective in Robert Goren's hands, but after years of selectively judging him on his failings, he'd finally come to the realisation that, despite his fragility, Goren was capable of delivering. And not because – or only because – he'd been coddled and protected for most of his professional life. It had been a surprise, but… his grittiness, the way he'd kept clawing his way back from the abyss, had earned Ross's respect. Demonstrated that he was capable of taking care of his partner. Despite what Ross judged to be ample evidence to the contrary.

Yes. Goren not only needed Eames, he actually cared about her. So much so that Ross had cowardly dodged any discussion of Eames's lover in Vegas.

No matter what Eames wanted, Goren would eventually have to know about her almost decade-long affair with the dashing blond Lieutenant. But Ross was just spineless enough to make him learn the hard way – from the interview video. On the plane. Not an ideal situation for a man Ross suspected was hopelessly in love. A better man than the Captain might have bit the bullet and spilled the revelation, finding a way to soften the blow. But was he wrong for trying _not_ to be the bearer of bad news, for once? For not wanting to seem like he _enjoyed_ Goren in pain. Which had never been true, despite appearances.

Ross checked his cell to make sure the ringer was on. He had to admit that he was dying to speak to Goren. He'd recently, finally, gotten over his resistance to acknowledging Goren's genius, and now he could just allow himself to bask in its reflected glow. The nature of the case only heightened his impatience.

Yes, he wanted to know what Goren thought. Particularly about Dreyfeus, who to Ross was a complete mystery, but of course about the case. Ross grimaced a bit at the realisation that he'd been imagining Goren, on the plane, cogitating. Reviewing the evidence as only he could do. Manufacturing rabbits to pull out of hats. It was a guilty pleasure. To feel confident that someone would figure it out; would see more than he ever could. Was that how it was for Eames? No wonder she'd stuck to him like glue.

About the case, he had some ideas. He hoped Goren would be willing to listen to him. He didn't pray much, but as the phone rang, he muttered a quiet oath that he might be a better and more trustworthy soundingboard for Goren than the detective had found in the men around him the previous times Eames had been lost to him.

~.~.~.~.~

**A/N 2:** A huge THANK YOU to all the wonderful reviewers, PMers, favers and alerters – your interest and support is deeply appreciated! And thank you to morgancorinthos84, who has review replies and other personal communication disabled. And don't fret about the short chapter – there are four more written, several of them loooooong, on the way. I expect about another dozen chapters in all, not including this one.

Also… so yeah, they're coming back. Would anyone call me a liar if I said I always knew it? The thing is, I read on a chatroom board someone complaining that the show in Season 9 never mentioned G&E after they left. The commenters considered it a slight against the duo, but I suspected the moment I heard that it was because the PTB wanted to avoid committing themselves, because they were planning – or hoping for – a return.

**Reviews do **_**not**_** make me write more or try harder… they just make me happy!**

WORDS: 808 UPLOADED Tuesday, October 12, 2010


	13. NAVIGATION

**A/N 1:** In this fic, there's an anti-hero, an antagonist, and a villain. Which is which? It's a shell game, like the Loyalty spoilers. A reminder to readers to be cautious about reading reviews if you don't want to be spoiled; I encourage speculation about the disposition of this case. :D

~.~.~.~.~

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN: NAVIGATION**

_McCarran Airport, Las Vegas  
5PM Monday afternoon local time_

"Captain? It's Goren."

Bobby hated to admit how relieved he felt when he heard Ross's voice on the other end of the line.

He'd done his best to focus on the casefile on the plane, but once he'd gotten to researching the ADA, concern for Eames and worry over her self-appointed enemy wrought havoc with his concentration and his constitution. With difficulty, he'd wrested logic from the grip of anxiety, but now that he'd landed, he realised he was desperate for a lifeline. He just hoped Ross wouldn't hear that desperation in his voice and take advantage. Things with Ross had been a bit better lately, but he was still sensitive to the way their Captain seemed to be spurred to irrational and sometimes destructive action at Bobby's first sign of weakness.

"So, it looks like Carruthers was already dead when Eames got back to the room. Do you think?"

This was a surprise. Bobby had expected something like, 'So what have you learned, Detective,' or, 'Did you manage to get through the casefile?' One of the aggressive, slightly condescending openers that had gotten Bobby's back up so many times in the past.

As Bobby shuffled at top speed towards the airport's main concourse, he felt the muscles in his forehead and shoulders begin to relax a little, despite the circumstances.

It was nice to feel like he was being given permission to _talk_.

**o.o.o.o.o**

"What about the ADA, Dreyfeus?"

Bobby was in a cab, heading towards the city. The light here was thin and pale. The air conditioner in the car was giving him a chill. Or maybe it was just because he was bone tired.

His conversation with Ross about the particulars of the case had been brief but civil. Bobby's words had flowed with greater ease as his mind unlocked and the lump in his throat dissolved.

Bobby sighed. He didn't really want to open up to his Captain regarding his conclusions about the ADA, but he had to talk about it to someone. To get it straight in his mind, separate the likely from the remote, get a reality check. He didn't trust himself 100%, didn't trust his judgement in isolation.

"It's not about Eames," he stammered. "With Dreyfeus. It's about men. It's about…" He couldn't say it. "She feels – protective of men she thinks are with inferior women… women, who – who don't understand them."

Ross grunted. "She has a genius fetish."

"Um, maybe."

"Great. Another woman who's got in for Eames because of you."

Bobby blanched at the stark words. Ross had said what he himself could not.

"What else?"

Despite the circumstances, Bobby felt himself sinking into the familiar, comforting rhythm of profiling.

"She thinks that no matter how big of an…" He hesitated over the most appropriate word.

"Ass?" Ross supplied.

Goren grunted. "…A man is, he gets a pass, and a second chance. He gets pity. She excuses the bad behaviour of men by blaming the women in their lives."

Part of him wished that Ross had never read any of the files – about the case, or about the ADA. There was something so prurient, so unwholesome, about the whole mess that it made Bobby feel as if it was somehow exposing Eames, in a way that made him want to shield her from scrutiny.

Reading the ADA's old court transcripts had given Bobby a clear idea of her issues. Without intervention, she might succeed at burying his partner; Bobby would need a plan both subtle and supple to change the direction of the investigation. Hopefully talking to his Captain would help clear his head enough that he'd be able to come up with one. _If only he could be talking to Eames, instead…_

"You got all that from her old transcripts?"

"Yeah, but there are a few things that I'd like you to try to confirm for me if you can, about her background. Her pathology is pretty straightforward – she has an animus towards women who she thinks are inferior to the men in their lives. What's objectively strength, independence and healthy boundaries she perceives as emotional distance, lack of empathy and a need to control. She would have been the daughter of an absent, cheating father and a mother who she thinks pushed him away. She blames her mother, both for driving her father away, and for not being a worthy rival for her father's love."

"That sounds irrational. I could never picture Eames in either of those roles."

"It is irrational. That's the nature of pathological behaviour." Bobby paused as Ross snorted, then continued more thoughtfully. "The unbalanced psyche doesn't see the world as it actually exists, Captain. Dreyfeus is labelling Eames with… with an archetype created by her own subconscious, an unsubtle mind trying to make sense of things it's incapable of understanding. Then she's placing Eames in a role that reinforces Dreyfeus's assumptions, without requiring her to take any responsibility or learn anything from the situation."

"I'm not getting how this fits in with what's happening with Eames _now_." Ross was finally beginning to sound impatient.

Bobby was on such a roll he didn't even notice the dig. "She's got her coming and going. When a man has failures, or when a relationship fails, she blames the woman – for not being good enough, for not being understanding, accommodating. Her idea of the perfect relationship is more like that of a cheater and his mistress. To her, all dependency is co-dependence; she can't comprehend symbiosis."

Bobby paused, feeling a bit self-conscious about his words, and how they related to him and Eames. He felt as though he were sharing a coveted secret. "When a woman is strong in her relationship with a man, Dreyfeus perceives it as shrill and domineering, and she tries to undermine it. And then once the woman is deprived of her power, it just makes Dreyfeus angrier, because deep down, unconsciously, she never forgave her mother for succumbing, for being weak – for not being equal to the circumstances of her life."

"So Dreyfeus perceives Eames as both overbearing and inferior, which triggers her. But Eames is also in a vulnerable position, which makes her even more of a target."

"Yeah. The question is," Bobby continued, "What made her fixate on Eames this way. Eames clearly fits with the DA's pathology, but how would she know that?"

"Maybe because of Eames and B…" Ross trailed off and coughed. _Eames and Becker. _

"I know about Lieutenant Becker, Captain. I've known for years."

"How…"

"I used to have friends in Vegas too." Ross said nothing. "But I'm glad, you didn't mention it before, Captain. If you had, right at the beginning, then, I… wouldn't have reacted well. I would have taken it the wrong way." This was a big admission from Bobby. It felt risky, but good to get it off his chest.

"I'm not sure if it's enough, though. You said, that she knew things… about Eames and me?" Bobby really didn't want to have this conversation with his Captain. He didn't want to look deeper into the pathology of – like he said – yet another woman who hated Eames because of him, and he didn't want to hear from Ross how people were gossiping about them. And where that gossip had come from.

"Yeah. She had pretty, er, detailed information."

"But old? Out-dated?"

"I think her source of intel dried up over a year ago."

"I, have a theory, um, Captain."

"I'm listening." Bobby could hear in his voice that Ross was trying not to sound too aggressive. He expressed his silent appreciation.

"From the transcripts, it's clear that she considered Becker her equal, and they seemed to team up on a lot of cases together. I wonder…"

There was a pause on both ends of the line. "You wonder if it's not about you, but about Becker? Do you think she's the perp?"

"A part of me wants to. But there's no evidence her relationship with Becker was emotionally or sexually intimate."

"And if she is guilty, she's going to be the toughest nut to crack. Not that you're not up to it, Detective, but…"

"Yeah I know." It was true.

"What's your thoughts on motive?"

Ross was really trying. Bobby didn't know whether to be happy or irritated at his attempts to ask neutral, leading questions that didn't sound condescending.

"It's thin. There are so many ways to look at it. If she's doing it to frame Eames, she runs the risk of spurring Becker to be a hero, or driving Eames closer …" He couldn't finish that sentence. The fact that he was even talking so bluntly about his partner's personal life… _This conversation was so wrong_.

"And if she's doing it to get rid of the competition?"

"Well it depends. Was Becker's relationship with Carruthers a threat to her? Whether Dreyfeus was a lover or just a friend of Becker? Dreyfeus positions herself as the mistress figure in relation to the men in her life; a position of power, no matter how things play out."

"So maybe she'd be happier with the 'other woman' to her 'other woman' still in a man's life, doing all the work and taking the heat."

"That would fit, Captain."

"But it could still be her."

Bobby sighed tiredly. "Yeah."

For a few moments, there was silence on the line. The taxi was taking him into the oasis of habitation within the desert landscape; the scrub, strip malls and pink, new houses flew by in a blur of shabby businesses and bright green lawns. Out of habit, Bobby tried to picture Ross at his desk at 1PP. Was there anyone around? Did Ross have that lugubrious, hungry, slightly sardonic hound dog look when he was alone? Had he examined the evidence of the Carruthers murder as closely as Bobby himself had?

Discussing Dreyfeus with Ross had been surprisingly painful and anxious-making. Not only because of the hints of betraying Eames's privacy, or facing the reality of her situation, but for other reasons as well. _…absent, cheating father and a mother who she thinks pushed him away._ He'd felt that way about his own parents once. Like Dreyfeus, he'd even forced unsuspecting boobs to play out roles in the mythology of his own dysfunctional family, sometimes with tragic consequences. He'd been cruel. Had he ever – like Dreyfeus – been unjust? He didn't believe so, but still it weighed on him.

For most of his life, despite his training, so many of his reactions – to neglectful fathers, frail adults, damaged, insane women – had been unconscious, automatic and unexamined. He realised, in retrospect, that these triggers had been one of the things keeping him from Eames. Was he ready now? He knew there must still be ways in which he was 'asleep', as the Taoists said, and of course Eames was too, but he thought he really was ready for her. To be her partner in every sense of the word.

But what about Eames? He saw from her interview, where she'd tried so valiantly to keep her affair with Becker off the record, that she'd been thinking of him, Bobby. He was fairly sure it was because she cared for her partner as he did her, but that didn't mean she didn't still want _him. _It also didn't mean that the feelings that had prompted her choice of paramours weren't still there also. They would both be hard to let go of, Bobby knew.

"What in particular jumped out at you, Detective?"

Bobby inhaled sharply; his imagination had taken him deep into his superconscious. "About what? Dreyfeus?"

"Yeah," Ross said.

"In several of her transcripts, when she was prosecuting women – mostly the girlfriends of drug dealers…"

"Who usually ended up with stiffer sentences than the scumbags they dated because they didn't have anything they could deal for…"

Goren grunted in acknowledgement. "She used the same term over and over… 'leading him around by the nose…' It's a surprising – analysis of that type of relationship. I don't think it was just a ploy to get a conviction. She, er, really believed it. And that fact is – telling – it indicates significant delusion, or at least that's what I think."

"Delusion? We're talking about pushers and their mules. What's to be deluded about?"

"Captain… maybe the relationships are dysfunctional, but even people like that don't stick together unless there's something there." Bobby almost stuttered on those words. Almost.

"So she jumped to the conclusion–" _Just like I did_– was Ross's unspoken coda,"That it was a parasitic relationship." All of a sudden they weren't just talking about the riff-raff in a bunch of closed drug cases.

"She doesn't have the emotional maturity or intellectual subtlety to recognise deep, complex… um,"

"Love?" Ross supplied without irony.

**o.o.o.o.o**

Ross covered the ensuing awkwardness by asking Bobby about his plans for Dreyfeus. They briefly exchanged information; Bobby about his itinerary and list of interviews, and Ross about Eames's current status and well-being. To Bobby's gratification, Ross seemed to accept his assertion that Eames would be out of custody tonight. Ross's lack of objection made the goal more possible, somehow.

"How do you feel about interviewing Becker, Goren? Is there anyone you could call in as a wing-man?"

Bobby bristled a little, even though he knew in his gut that his Captain's concern was warranted. "No time, Captain," he emphasised the formal address. "I'll be OK."

"But will Becker? Don't break anything. And keep me in the loop."

~.~.~.~.~

**A/N 2:** I had the most awesome dream a few weeks ago: I dreamt that I was watching the finale of Season 10, and Goren and Eames walked off hand in hand, kissing. It was the cutest thing… _le sigh_.

_**You can't make the CI writers include kissing and hand-holding… but you can make me! Play to your strengths! Please review! **_

WORDS: 2471 UPLOADED Tuesday, October 19, 2010


	14. DISDAIN

**A/N 1:** For the past several weekends I've had to work from home, voting on behalf of about 100 people for the Pepsi Refresh Everything project, which my employer has entered (vying for a large wad of cash based on popular vote). It's made it hard to muster the energy for writing. Today (Sunday) is the last day before the end, thank God!

~.~.~.~.~

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN: DISDAIN**

_LVPD Lockup Las Vegas  
9PM Monday evening_

"When did you talk to him?" _Shut up, SHUT UP! _Although she was furious at herself for saying the words – playing Dreyfeus's game exactly as she'd been manoeuvred to – she spoke with resignation. The ADA was the magician, Alex was the audience, and the conversation with Bobby was the piece de la resistance… a rabbit drawn from a hat with a flourish. There was no other way this tableau was bound to play out; there was no point in resisting.

Like Miles Stone, she was slumped helpless in her own tomb, waiting for the cuts.

**o.o.o.o.o**

"You know, it isn't going to get easier. I mean, you really know." Dreyfeus stood impassively looking down at Alex through the bars in lockup at the Vegas HQ. As a high-profile suspect she got lots of attention, but that didn't mean special treatment, it seemed.

"I know," Alex admitted. She hated how wispy and fragile her voice sounded; partly from disuse, and partly from choking back… _everything_. She'd been there for hours, shivering in her shorts, tank top and flip-flops. No-one had offered her a sweater or a blanket, and she wasn't about to ask. She'd probably be given prison orange anyway.

"Then why are you doing this?" Dreyfeus spoke softly and without inflection. There was certainly no compassion in her mien, or any feeling at all really, but something in Alex responded, and she had to turn away and squeeze her eyes shut tight to force back the wetness.

"I'm not doing – anything," she gritted out. She heard a sound of disbelief from over her shoulder, the sound of footsteps, then quiet.

Even though she didn't trust a hair on the ADA's head, talking to someone outside the interview room had been – _nice_. She had been alone all day. She'd received calls from her attorney and her union rep, and no-one else. Which was her own choice, but still… New York, freedom, safety, her family, her career, felt very far away right now. Bobby felt so far away.

_Why was she doing this?_ They knew she was hiding something… that was why they were riding her so hard. Was it worth the effort? Her partner, with his single-minded pursuit of knowledge and his occasional complete lack of respect for her boundaries, would undoubtedly get his hands on her interview transcripts eventually. She'd admitted in the interview to sleeping with Phillip, which was embarrassing enough. Had she even hinted at _why_? Was the pressure she was feeling, resisting investigators out here worth it? Would he figure it out anyway?

_She missed him_. She missed what she was afraid would be gone by the time she got back.

Alex took two blind steps towards the back of her cell, and, her forehead against the cold wall, finally gave in. She clutched her waist tightly as tears ran down her chin and onto the floor. Her breath came in soft gasps. She never imagined it would be this hard. That she would feel as if everything was slipping away.

After a few minutes, she wasn't cried out, but she'd indulged herself for as long as she intended to, and decided to close up shop and go back to business as usual. She cleaned herself up by stages, discreetly sniffing, then wiping her face and her chest with the hem of her tank top, then rubbing the wet spots off the wall with the palm of her hand.

She turned around to find Dreyfeus leaning against the far wall, watching.

**o.o.o.o.o**

"I'm sorry… I've intruded on a private moment."

Alex squared her shoulders, physically and psychically. Dreyfeus had made a mistake, and Alex suddenly felt on a more solid footing.

Yes, she'd had a moment of agony when she realised that the ADA had witnessed her weakness… a few moments, actually.

But she wasn't that easily bullied. What Dreyfeus didn't know – although she _should_, since she seemed to take her job seriously – was that Alex had ghost-written the book on intimidation tactics, both subtle and gross.

How to proceed? Self-effacing seemed called for. Alex smiled ruefully. "It's OK. I'm sure it's not the first breakdown you've witnessed." _Or caused_, was what she didn't say. Sniping at the ADA wouldn't be helpful. Alex shook her head and walked hesitantly towards the bars, reminded of a video she saw of a hyena trying to shuffle past a lioness to grab a pilfered bite.

"True," Dreyfeus agreed, and they shared a smile. The ADA maintained her position up against the far wall, and Alex, mindful of the image she presented, resisted the urge to grasp the bars on either side of her face. "So you haven't heard from your partner?"

Alex started in surprise.

"It's just," Dreyfeus continued quickly, "The desk Sergeant said you haven't had any calls, and," she paused, "Of course we're tracking your outgoing."

"No, I haven't," Alex replied. She really didn't know what else to say. Her head felt heavy and her mind unresponsive; she couldn't _think_.

The ADA shrugged delicately. "Because from what I hear," Alex blanched at the words, and at her interlocutor's carefully bland expression, "Your close professional working relationship used to be legendary. What changed?"

_No, no, no, this wasn't happening. She did NOT want to talk about Bobby_. White spots swam in the thick of her vision, and she finally grasped the bars to keep her balance. Yes, things with Bobby had been bad for a while, but lately they'd been better, much better. Better than ever, even. That Dreyfeus would drag her relationship with Bobby – by far the most important thing in her life – and shine a light on her failures, guilt and responsibility regarding their past challenges, was too much. "Used to be legendary, and still is."

"That's not what I heard."

Alex took a deep breath and stuck out her chin. "I don't know who you've been talking to," _Phillip_, "But you've heard wrong."

"Oh I don't think so," Dreyfeus said, and the hungry, calculating glint in her eye filled Alex with trepidation. Before she could respond, the ADA leapt forward energetically and changed tacks. "So why have you been holding out on us, Ms Eames?" She persisted in neutering Alex metaphorically, severing her ties to the success and prestige the title of Detective represented.

"I have spoken to you, Ms Dreyfeus, at length. And I will happily do so again." She struggled against the uneasy feeling that she was fighting a losing battle, and that the coup de grace was near at hand.

Dreyfeus leaned forward, bringing a whiff of Chanel N°5 – how traditional. "You know that that's not true, Ms Eames. Keeping things from us will not help your case – you know that as well."

Alex stood up straighter and sniffed. "I'm a seasoned and decorated officer, Ms Dreyfeus. I have cooperated fully with the investigation, and I will continue to do so. I won't, however, cooperate with a fishing trip or a witch hunt, and that's final." Whew, she felt better saying that.

"Then we'll charge you," Dreyfeus countered, unfazed by Alex's speech.

"Then my lawyer will tell you the same thing," Alex replied.

The ADA paused, looking down and sucking her teeth, and Alex felt that she'd scored a hit. Then why did she have to consciously stop herself from biting her lip? She swallowed heavily, hoping the other woman didn't notice.

"Is there someone in your life, Ms Eames?" The ADA's tempo changes were getting irritating. Alex imagined that she earned the wrath of many a judge if she was so obvious in court. "Because Phillip was obviously just a distraction." _Phillip_?

"A very pleasant one, nevertheless," Alex retorted. She crowed silently when Dreyfeus faltered.

But recovered quickly. "Indeed. Do you think your – relationship – with Phillip Becker was an excuse to avoid real intimacy, or your only respite from a complete lack of it?"

Alex just stared at her through the bars. She was through playing games.

"No need to be truculent, Ms Eames."

"I'm not being truculent. I don't fault you for listening to gossip in order to try to solidify your case. I've done the same many times." Alex tried to convey with her tone that it hadn't always turned out well.

"Gossip?" Dreyfeus tilted her head like a curious bird. "I wouldn't call it gossip if it comes from a credible source."

"I wouldn't call Phillip Becker a credible source."

"It wasn't Phillip Becker."

Something in her tone awoke something in Alex… something so familiar, yet so awful, that she couldn't bring herself to look at it.

Dreyfeus smiled a cutting, knowing smile. "Bobby said you would lie, prevaricate and negotiate. He didn't warn me that you'd do it so ham-handedly."

The words hung between them and stole Alex's breath as her heart dropped to her shoes. She tried to laugh. "He did not," she said with force but not conviction.

"I'm surprised you didn't call him. Since he was dependent on you for so many years, maybe it's his turn to return the favour."

"When did you talk to him?" The words that squeezed, unbidden, from between her lips were breathy and anguished. Dreyfeus was telling the truth. She'd manoeuvred Alex to this exact position, and Alex had played into her hands. _Shut up, SHUT UP! _But it was too late.

"Oh, we spoke on the phone earlier this afternoon." Dreyfeus reacted with subtle hunger to the pain and shock Alex could feel on her face. "He was on his way out for drinks, but he took a few minutes to fill me in."

Alex turned away and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She could practically hear the slavering through the bars. Emotional vampire. _Why did Bobby always miss that?_

"Don't worry, he doesn't think you're a murderer… I think he doubts you have it in you. We'll see if he's right about that… he's been wrong before. He has blind spots, hasn't he?"

Alex stood with her back to Dreyfeus, willing the primal scream from her throat. It was like LeZard all over again. She'd never told Bobby, but she knew that he'd met with her, told her things. Leslie LeZard was no Nicole Wallace; she hadn't the patience or the imagination to get what she needed from the library. The things she needed to cut them both down, Bobby as well as her. That was part of what she meant by, '_All your wounds are self-inflicted._' It wasn't the first time his compulsion to over-share with dangerous women he barely knew had come back to bite him. And her.

~.~.~.~.~

Please please review!

WORDS: 1906 UPLOADED Sunday, October 31, 2010


	15. AVATAR

**A/N 1:** Someone said (and Wikipedia and IMDb agree) that Annabella Sciorra played an un-named lawyer on the CI episode "Self-Made". Is that true?

~.~.~.~.~

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN: AVATAR**

_Las Vegas  
9:30PM Monday evening_

The conference at the Mandalay was determinedly limping along, despite the pall cast by a murder, love triangle and dramatic arrest, and despite the ongoing presence of several burly uniforms that offered an ironic contrast to the theme of the event.

Standing in the lobby of the hotel, Bobby felt inexorably bleak. He'd been running on adrenalin since leaving Ross's office. The anxiety of the plane ride had given way to the thrill of the hunt when he was weaving a net around Dreyfeus, but now he was coming down, and reality was setting in. He didn't want to be here, surrounded by blue in an inhospitable hotel, looking for Lieutenant Becker. He wanted to be with Eames.

He could almost physically feel the weight of everything that had gone on here bearing down on him. Not only the murder, Eames's ignominious withdrawal, her poor treatment by the authorities… her affair with Becker. Her submission, his betrayal with Carruthers, her discovery. How it must have felt to share a room with Carruthers, knowing what she knew? And whose idea was that?

Bobby vacillated between being furious at Becker for capturing Eames's interest, and furious at him for rejecting her. And on the topic, what was Becker's angle? Bobby paced around the hallway outside the conference rooms, trying to wrangle his mind into formulating a gameplan for his interview with the man that didn't involve popping him on the nose… but his brain was mush, like wet cotton. He couldn't _think_. It didn't help that Becker was waiting for him, somewhere within. Earlier on, after Bobby had broached the topic outside the bar, Dreyfeus had phoned the Lieutenant straight away and arranged a meeting, not giving Bobby a chance to ask her not to.

Bobby thought about Nina Carruthers. Small and dark, the crime scene tech working out of a State detachment in Lake Tahoe had a quiet demeanour and regular features. The selection of photos of Carruthers that had been taken during her life did not present an image of charm or allure. Bobby's first thought of her had been, how could she have replaced Eames? It was a crass observation, not worthy of him, but he couldn't help it. It gnawed at him… did Becker still yearn for Eames? Had his rebuff made her feel inadequate? Did he move on so quickly on purpose to hurt her?

**o.o.o.o.o**

Bobby stood at the double set of double doors that separated the convention rooms from the rest of the hotel. He was an object of interest from most of those within; his appearance met with looks of derision, apprehension, and aversion… whether from recognition of him as an official in the investigation, as Eames's partner, or from the rumours that seemed to have followed them both, he didn't know.

The lone conference info table attendant surveyed him owlishly. "If you're wondering if it's you who's sucking all the fun out of the room, the answer is yes. If you're wondering if it's fair, the answer's no." Her dry humour made him smile, a little. He shuffled over to her table, plopped his binder on it and sat down.

"I feel like I'm, uh, the punchline of a joke I don't understand," he said with a self-effacing grin. A friendly face was a nice surprise in this place.

She looked at him impassively and 'hmmm'd, before looking down at the book she was reading. Maybe friendly face wasn't exactly the right description. His leg began to jiggle, and he was making to get up again, when she looked over at him, contempt in her shrewd grey eyes. "If you 're looking for Phillip Becker, he's waiting for you in Conference Room D." She gestured down the hall with a nod of her head.

Bobby stood up, feeling even more self-conscious. He couldn't figure out if her attitude was for him or for Becker? Becker was a known quantity, good looking and well-liked. But who knew? He decided to test her, a little. "Thanks, yeah, I am. I'm Robert Goren by the way. Detective. NYPD." He held out his hand, which she took. Her hand was slender and pale, just like the rest of her.

"Hi, I'm Patsy Isle. Victims Services. I'm from Sacramento." Her response was friendly enough. Maybe the contempt was for Becker. Or maybe Patsy Isle just blew hot and cold. Law Enforcement didn't necessarily respond any better to investigators than the general public. "Good luck," she said to his retreating back.

**o.o.o.o.o**

"Do you want Detective Eames to be convicted of murder?"

The interview with Lieutenant Becker wasn't going well. It was clear that Bobby had made a mistake letting Dreyfeus warn Becker that he was coming, but that wasn't the only problem.

When Bobby entered the conference room – which was still set up from an earlier lecture – Becker had been leaning on the podium, on the stage at the far end of the room. A position of power. He must have heard Bobby come through the door, but he kept his head bent, attention on the papers he was fiddling with.

Bobby stood for a second, silent and unmoving. Partly to try to reclaim control of the room, but mostly just to compose himself. Even without seeing his face, the resemblance was clear. Long, rangy limbs, rakish dark blonde hair, Irish complexion.

When Becker looked up, Bobby's heart fell. Behind the tight, disapproving expression was a good, kind face. A reasonable, and easygoing, and _normal _face. Body a tiny bit softer, skin a bit puffy and crepey.

Like Joe's might have been, if he'd lived.

~.~.~.~.~

**A/N 2:** I published Chapter 1 on March 25, 2010. I am HOPING to finish it before March 25, 2011. BUT – the story is more important than the process, so I won't rush. And BTW, I'm now at the end of the chapters I feel good enough about to post… there's lots more to come, it just hasn't been written yet. :D

Please review! Every time you review, the picture in my attic gets older.

WORDS: 1066 UPLOADED Wednesday, March 23, 2011


	16. FAMOUS BLUE RAINCOAT

**A/N 1:** This chapter is dedicated to Weathergirl, who is a great gift to the fandom.

~.~.~.~.~

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN: FAMOUS BLUE RAINCOAT**

_Las Vegas  
10:15PM Monday evening_

"Do you know anything about the room designations?" Bobby dropped himself heavily into the same chair next to Patsy Isle that he'd occupied earlier. He tried to resist the temptation to bury his head in his hands, instead resting his elbows on the blue and white ruffled catering tablecloth and rubbing his knuckles over the pulse points on his temples.

He needed to get himself down to the precinct where Eames was being held. But he was finding it hard to leave the scene of one of his most emotionally draining interviews.

"Of course," she said, with a nervous smile.

But while he was here, he really should try to answer some of the questions that Becker had managed to avoid answering. _Eames, I needed you in there._ "Do you know who was responsible for putting Eames with Carruthers?"

"Responsible?" Her eyes tightened a tiny bit at the corners. "Well, I was the one who finalised the room assignments, but…" Patsy frowned and looked away.

"Someone asked you to put them together?" Bobby spoke slowly and carefully, belying his newly-awoken interest… it was clear that this woman was easily spooked. "Who?" He asked softly, but she winced as if he'd shouted. He tried to shrink down to make himself seem smaller… her nervous twitches, baggy clothes and insincere affect spoke of a history of insecure, possibly abusive relationships.

Patsy shook her head and smiled. "Nobody." She sucked in her cheeks and looked down, running her fingers along the beaded hem of her heavy cardigan.

Bobby was frustrated. She was obviously covering for someone, and part of him wanted to grind the name out of her. But he couldn't stop thinking about Becker.

**O.O.O.O.O**

"_Do you want Detective Eames to be convicted of murder?"_

"_My girlfriend was just brutally killed in her bed, Detective. What I want… has nothing to do with Alexandra Eames."_

"_Your girlf–" Bobby's voice hitched on the word, and he looked down at his shoes with a scoff. Bland, smugly nice, but with a tinge of self-righteous meanness, being alone in the room interviewing Lieutenant Becker was making Bobby squirm with discomfort. The man Eames had given herself to was being obstructive and increasingly hostile, clearly aware of the superficial resemblance that had drawn Eames to him, and canny enough to notice every time Bobby had to resist the urge to slam him into the wall and cuff him for ever touching her._

_Bobby's game plan at the outset had been to play the detached investigator. Play up the antagonism that supposedly still existed between him and Eames, and most importantly, to not betray his feelings for his partner with inappropriate questions or displays of emotion._

_Becker's arrogance and needling had quickly forced that game plan out the window. Bobby had wasted his advantage asking rote procedural questions when all he wanted to know was how the Lieutenant had fucked his partner, why he'd dumped her, and had she ever told him she loved him? In the vacuum of power, Becker had not missed the opportunity to go on the offensive. _

_Bobby was still trying to figure out how to get that advantage back. "What did you hope to gain from gossiping about Detective Eames?" He knew he'd made a mistake the moment he spoke; he'd shown weakness, and Becker picked up on it instantaneously. "Did you…" Bobby trailed off, tongue-tied by his own vulnerability._

_Becker looked at Bobby thoughtfully. "Detective Eames? Get your facts straight, Goren. Nobody was talking about Detective Eames. They were talking about you. Your many deficiencies. As a cop, as a partner." _As a man.

_The words hung in the air._

**O.O.O.O.O**

"Did you know Nina Carruthers?" Bobby looked down at Patsy's book, trying to appear less threatening. A little ways down the hall, one of the larger rooms had been turned into a disco of some sort, and a steady stream of conference attendees were being disgorged from the elevators and ushered therein.

"The dead woman? I saw her, a couple of times, this year." Patsy Isle gazed blandly back at Bobby. He was sorely tempted to blurt something about Becker, but he knew it was just a way to ease the overwhelming tension the interview had left him with, and to salve his pride.

Suddenly her mien changed microscopically, shifting from indifferent to distant and wary. Bobby intuited that she could see him drifting away, into his own mind. Drawing upon the self-control he'd honed out of necessity the past few years, he pushed Becker out of his thoughts and focused gently but fully on the woman next to him. "And before that?"

"Probably. I've been a volunteer organiser for donkey's."

Bobby smiled a little. Her self-contained demeanour, dry humour, businesslike attitude, reminded him of Alex. Maybe that was why he didn't feel like getting up. He relaxed a tiny bit in the oasis of relative quiet.

**O.O.O.O.O**

"_What's the purpose of this interview, Detective Goren?" _

_Holding court from the podium like a smug guest lecturer, the Lieutenant remained cool and unruffled. Bobby, on the other hand, was having trouble containing his agitation. He knew, intellectually, that interviewing a seasoned investigator who was by no means cooperative was challenging at the best of times, but Becker had intimate knowledge of both Bobby and Eames; he was easily gaining the upper hand._

"_Because from over here," He gestured from his pride of place, "It's a bit unclear. Are you trying to frame me? Clear your partner? Or just satisfy your curiosity? Whether it's because of jetlag or because you've never been in the same room with someone who's fucked her, I'm having a hard time following your train of thought."_

_Bobby looked past the rage that roiled in his stomach and actually left spots in front of his eyes, to recognise the irony of Becker's words, considering that every question Bobby had asked, he'd answered sarcastically or not at all._

_Bobby tried to take control of the tempo with a big sigh and a shrug. "You're right," he said with a self-effacing laugh, "It could be either one or both. I do feel a need to satisfy my curiosity, and I intend to clear my partner." He shook his head and looked around the room. "As to the, the – other thing, I think that was an, um, poor choice of words." _She gave yourself to you. How could you throw her away like a piece of garbage?

_Becker looked down for a long second. "Perhaps. She was more than just…" Bobby waved it away. He didn't need to hear that again, even with more polite words. "But you're not the only one who's curious," he whispered._

_Bobby bristled. "I've been given official status, Lieutenant; I'm not obligated to satisfy your curiosity."_

"_You already have."_

**O.O.O.O.O**

"Probably?" Bobby allowed just a hint of scepticism to shade his charming smile. His interview with Lieutenant Becker had been so muddled and out of control, it was tough to separate the wheat from the chaff, but there was something he'd said that had piqued his curiosity… nothing overt or definite, but he followed the instinct to continue to gently prod Patsy Isle.

Patsy shrugged. "I don't – notice people, Detective," she murmured, staring at a spot on the table. "We don't all make the choice to engage."

"What about Detective Eames?" Bobby had sat silently while Patsy helped a couple of people who'd come to her table with questions. To a woman, they'd approached defiantly, focusing on him as if staring him down, as if he would question their right to be there monopolizing the help desk personnel's time. He found the attitude grated on him, fracturing his patience and concentration. What was happening to him? Was it because he had to do this without Eames, that the hostility from every quarter was getting to him so much? Was it even real? Or was he imagining it?

"Yes, I knew her. She was hard to miss." Patsy's sharp words drew him back, and he noted the subtle change in her demeanour. Was she angry? Or just focused, awake.

"So you do notice people. Some people?" Bobby made his tone firm, pushing her a bit to try to draw out whatever his mention of his partner had started brewing.

"Detective Eames… carried herself with great dignity." Isle looked balefully at him, ignoring the jab. "And she always seemed very sad."

Bobby felt like he'd been punched in the gut. It had taken him _years_ to see that sadness. Or at least, to acknowledge it. At first, he'd been uninterested, then too fragile in their relationship to risk admitting _her_ fragility, then too wracked with guilt over the possibility that he was the cause of it. It was one of his great sources of shame, actually. One of the things he beat himself up about when he was in a mood to convince himself that he was a bad person; essentially uncaring, essentially selfish.

It was as if Patsy Isle read his mind. "The cheerful stoic with the secret pain. That makes her both stronger and more fragile than she appears," she murmured.

He felt a lump rise in his throat. It was her, exactly. He struggled to avoid revealing the feelings her words had invoked, but it was for nothing… she wasn't even looking at him. As she stared at her book, not reading, it appeared, he tried to pursue the point. "You said she always seemed sad. But not when she was with B-Becker?"

She glanced back, her face pinched. "No, not then." Bobby let her trail off, holding the silence to prod her into continuing. She did, speaking softly, almost hypnotically. "She was happy, but with a whisper of pathos. Like a schoolgirl at a funfair on the last day of summer. Trying to squeeze every drop of departing joy out of the chill air as she twirled on the merry-go-round."

Isle's description was striking. The image of his Eames, moving in an enticing pattern but going nowhere, trying to re-capture fading happiness, was both vivid and accurate. It left him oddly comforted, although he had asked the question to pick at his own wounds.

Isle had caught the essence of his partner in a few words. She must have noticed more about Nina Carruthers than she was saying.

"What about Nina? Did you ever see her with – Phillip?" Bobby wondered if the use of their first names would elicit a different response.

Isle twisted her neck and rolled her jaw. The movement was faintly reminiscent of Eames when she was uncomfortable. "No, I never saw them together."

_She was lying._

**O.O.O.O.O**

_Bobby had tried several tacks on Becker, all with the same result – nothing useful. Becker played games at every turn, deliberately misconstruing this question, throwing that one in Bobby's face, answering the other with a facetious confession._

_It was nothing he hadn't dealt with a hundred times, several hundred… But he could admit, at least to himself in the privacy of his own mind, that this one time, he was out of his depth. On the one hand, yes, being in the same room with the last man Alex had… been with… and knowing their history, was galling almost to the point of nausea. And his evasive or non-responsive answers to questions he should have _known_ were important left Bobby feeling like he was dancing with Carruthers' killer, but yet…_

_He felt for Lieutenant Becker. It was clear – despite his wish to have it not be so – that the man cared both for Eames and for his dead girlfriend. There was no mistaking the helplessness and anguish in his demeanour when he recounted his last communication with Carruthers, and despite the veneer of hostility, the Lieutenant's comments about Alex were tinged with regret and affection._

_In addition to that, there was something about him and Dreyfeus that was setting off alarm bells… _

**O.O.O.O.O**

"So Carruthers, she wasn't hard to miss?" Bobby was still pushing her… that was her second lie. The odd thing was, she wasn't very good at it, and she didn't really seem to be hiding anything.

Patsy Isle bristled. "That's not what I said, Detective. You won't get very far with your goal putting words in people's mouths."

"My goal? I've been brought in because of my experience with interrogations, to help move the investigation along to a conclusion."

She looked at Bobby with undisguised scepticism. "Yes, that's why you were brought in. But is that what you're doing?"

"I don't know, is it?" Bobby retorted.

"What you're doing is trying to clear your partner, as well as finding out as much as you can to sate your curiosity about her. Judith Dreyfeus is an idiot, otherwise she'd have sent you a plane ticket to Timbuktu rather than Las Vegas." Isle's nostrils flared as she rolled out her speech; the longest and most animated of their interaction.

Did _everyone_ know about his plan with Eames? "You know Judith Dreyfeus?"

"I've met her, recently." _Recently?_ _As in, after the murder? Why not say so?_

"Since Carruthers died?"

"Yes. Since she… died."

Bobby tilted his head to the side and scrunched down more in his chair. He plastered a friendly, unthreatening expression on his face and asked, "Officer Isle… Patsy… I – don't think it's true, that you, uh, never saw them together. I mean, how could you not? Um, Phillip, was parading Nina around to everyone, wasn't he?" He watched her carefully, but she didn't flinch or twitch.

After a moment she nodded. "Maybe."

"What were they like together?"

Isle shook her head. "She was happy. She didn't know… what it felt like to be loved."

For a moment, Bobby wasn't sure if she was finished or not. After having spoken to her for these past minutes, what was most interesting about Officer Patsy Isle and her peculiar mode of expression was the fact that she assumed – rightly – that he would understand her quixotic turns of phrase and non-sequiturs. Did she always speak like this? If so, she must be a lonely, lonely girl. Now, he saw comparisons to himself in her, rather than Eames. "Except when she was with Becker?"

"When she thought she'd found it, she opened like a flower." She looked at him almost wistfully.

"And Phillip?" Bobby hoped _she'd_ open up with more eloquent character analysis.

Her wistful look twisted into something vaguely ugly. "Phillip Becker is very adroit at pleasing women." Bobby tried not to cringe at her words. "He makes women love him not because he's a bad person, but because he's afraid of being alone."

His next question was the one he didn't ask. _Do you think Detective Eames loved him?_

Again, she seemed to read his mind. "There are many forms of love."

Bobby sat, mute, while Isle hummed something under her breath. She had a nice voice. Eventually, he recognised the song.

"Did you?" She eventually asked, staring at the chewed nails and cuticles in her lap.

"Did I what?"

"Thank him."

**O.O.O.O.O**

"_Let's just get this over with, Lieutenant Becker. I don't want to be here any more than you do, but you know I can't leave without answers." Bobby had finally made peace with both his anxiety and his hostility, and he was ready to bargain for the information he needed._

_Bleary-eyed, finally showing the effects of the late hour, Phillip just nodded and stared into space._

_Bobby stepped to the front of the room and sat down. "OK, um…" He felt like a green recruit on his first big case. "Number one," he looked up at Phillip and prayed for a straight answer, "Do you know who killed Nina Carruthers?" Becker just stared at him. Bobby sighed. "Do you have any suspicions, ideas, or leads? _Anything?_"_

"_Whatever I think, I've already communicated to Judy Dreyfeus." Predictable, if unhelpful. Another non-responsive answer, but he wasn't writing the guy off just yet. But why Dreyfeus? Couldn't he have confided in someone else? And since when did an ADA take statements from material witnesses?_

"_When was the last time you saw the deceased, and under what circumstances?" _

"_The last time I saw Nina I was in an elevator, at around four o-clock, rubbing Alexandra Eames's nose in my new relationship."_

_There was a lot Bobby wanted to say about that comment, but he let it go. For now. "How did Dreyfeus learn so much about Detective Eames's personal life?"_

"_I have no idea where Judy gets her information…"_

"_So you deny that she got it from you?" Bobby shook his head sceptically. Becker just shrugged. After a moment, "Do you think Detective Eames is guilty?"_

"_It would be the most expedient possibility." Not from where Bobby sat. With effort, he tamped down his irritation and tried asking the question a different way._

"_If it's not Detective Eames, then who?"_

"_As if you would ever think it was Eames."_

"_Would you ever think it was her?" Bobby's quiet voice drew Becker's attention, and for a second his mask fell and Bobby saw… something… it was gone before he could make sense of what he'd seen._

"_Not unless it was convenient to do so."_

**O.O.O.O.O**

Bobby was silent for a few moments while he processed Isle's words. As the lyrics in question rolled through his head, he found himself growing angry at the dishwater blonde would-be Lady Oracle sitting next to him. Insights delivered in charming metaphors were fine, to a point, but he balked at her latest characterisation. "You think Detective Eames needed him? To – to heal something, in her?"

"I think that Lieutenant Becker was better for her than you can imagine, and if she hadn't had him, a lot of things would be different, for her and for you. And not in a good way."

Surprisingly, Isle wasn't backing down even though Bobby was making no effort to quell or disguise his irritation. He knew how intimidating his anger was to most people (everyone, actually, except one person…), and he'd expected this timid, damaged woman to quail. Instead, she'd seemed to grow bigger and straighter in her chair, staring at him implacably and with a hint of defiance. Feeling confused and a little off-balance, he went on the offensive.

"And what about Nina Carruthers. Did he heal something in her?"

"Not yet," she said archly.

"Not yet?"

"Not ever," she mumbled.

Now that he had her talking about the victim, he was hesitant to change the subject, even though he was curious about what she'd just said. "So besides Phillip Becker, was there anyone else that you noticed Nina palling around with here at the conference?"

Patsy Isle's face twitched; she was still staring at the messy pile of photos. "No, not as far as I know. She really didn't have time for anyone else."

"Did you see her… with Detective Eames?" Isle shook her head. Bobby leaned down and caught her eye, looking earnestly and gently at her. "And what – what do you think Nina would have thought of, um, Detective Eames? Being Becker's ex-girlfriend and all?" He allowed his voice to rise in pitch, just asking a friendly question.

Isle grimaced. "I don't know, but, I doubt she'd have wanted anything to do with her."

"That bad, huh?" He purposely mimicked Eames's intonation from when she'd said the words to Harry Mulrooney months ago. "I'm surprised," he said. "From what you said before, it sounded like you… admired her."

"She's an creditable female, and a catch. A lot of people find her alluring." She stared balefully at him. "I don't admire that." Then she muttered, almost to herself, "Just because I understand some people doesn't mean I care about them."

"Care?" Bobby repeated. He opened up his portfolio and withdrew some of the photos he'd examined on the plane, including some of Nina Carruthers: her academy graduation, a couple of candids, and the morgue picture. "Do you care about anything regarding this case?" He spread the pictures out like a kid shuffling a deck of cards. "Do you care about the disruption it's caused? The disrepute it's bringing upon the event? Do you care that Phillip Becker's a free man now?" He held Carruthers' academy photo up in front of Isle's face. "Do you care about the dead woman at all?"

His eyes were glued to Patsy Isle's face, which was completely blank as she stared at the photo he held. He lowered it onto her clenched hand, and she took it and held it just off the table. The silence that ensued was almost peaceful; Bobby looking at her looking at Carruthers. When she spoke, her words were unexpected.

"You can't believe that he went from your partner to _this_." She held the photo up, almost weakly like an old woman, and fluttered it. He took it back and stared down at the plain, careful face. He exhaled heavily, but didn't reply. "I can tell from your expression that you can't understand the draw," she murmured. He couldn't deny it… it was literally true. "I personally can't see the draw with your partner." Bobby looked up in surprise, but she was miles away. "Tina was very beautiful, actually, in real life… she just wasn't very photogenic."

"You've seen pictures of her before today?"

**O.O.O.O.O**

"_What do you think of me being here?"_

_In the city of prize fights, after going 13 rounds, like two tired boxers Bobby and Lieutenant Becker were spent, metaphorically leaning on each other for a few moments' rest._

"_In Vegas?" _

_Bobby shrugged non-committally._

"_I'm surprised you didn't show up sooner."_

_Bobby frowned. "I came as fast as I could."_

_Becker shook his head. "No, I mean, not… today, I mean sooner like four years ago. Al– According to your partner, you hung the moon. I kept expecting you to come out and mark your territory."_

_Bobby felt tremendous sadness at the Lieutenant's words. He hoped that he hadn't missed his chance. "I… tried…"_

"_Not very hard, obviously." Becker looked at him speculatively. "But, better late than never, I suppose," he said. His expression morphed into mild contempt. "I had high hopes, actually. Haven't been impressed thus far. I'm glad you're being impartial, at least."_

"_Impartial? All night, I've been accused of the opposite."_

_Becker shook his head again. "I can't imagine what you'd do if it turned out Eames was guilty. But if she's not, at least you won't let yourself be used. You'll really try. To find who – who killed Tina."_

_Bobby found himself staring into space, the gears in his head finally turning unencumbered. "Why? Do you have someone you like for it after all?"_

"_I…" Bobby stared Becker down, and the Lieutenant blanched under his gaze. "Like I said, I'm not surprised that you're here." He shrugged and stood up, ready to dismiss the visiting Detective._

"_But?" Bobby said to his back as they both walked towards the door._

_Becker snorted. "But I'm surprised that you were invited."_

~.~.~.~.~

**A/N 2:** Bobby understood Isle's question; did you? Virtual milk and cookies to anyone who guesses right! And if you need a hint, PM me and I'll give you one.

BTW, yet another _Good Wife_ / CI connection, albeit 2nd degree: Skipp Sudduth, who fronts the band _Minus Ted_, which Kate Erbe sometimes sings with, and who wrote a song about her daughter, has a recurring role on _The Good Wife_.

WORDS: 4111 UPLOADED Wednesday, February 9, 2011

_**My dear faithful ficcers, thank you for taking the time to read this fic… I hope you are enjoying reading it a fifth as much as I'm enjoying writing it… if so, please review!**_


	17. SPECULATION

**A/N 1:** Even though this fic is now AU, I'm even more excited about it than I ever was. To me, the closure of Season 10 freed up a lot of pent-up energy that has been caught up in angst at my end, over my fears about what they'd do with the finale. I've got 4 chapters written, and another 8 half-written, but when I put this fic down a few weeks ago (too much angst over the finale), I wasn't happy with any of it. I'm pleased to see, re-reading, how well some of the character development fits with the revelations of Season 10. This chapter is dedicated to leftyred, whose recent PM was a big inspiration to me! – Written July 2011

~.~.~.~.~

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: SPECULATION**

_LVPD Interrogation Room 1 Las Vegas  
12:30AM Tuesday morning_

She was thinking about Bobby. Now that everything had gone pear-shaped, there seemed no reason not to.

Where was he right now? She prayed he wasn't on his way here, even while she longed to see him. She could picture him, shuffling in looking rumpled and fretful, clutching his folder bulging with statements and crime scene photos. He'd look at her with concern, lean in close (too close), ask her what happened. Wouldn't trust the paperwork he'd been given; he'd want to hear it in her own words. She'd stand against the bars, grasping them. Close enough that she could stretch out her fingers and brush the fabric of his suit jacket if she wanted to.

She'd want to. But she wouldn't.

She'd look down and away, hiding her face with her hair, and stammer out the truth. And then she'd look up and see surprise on his face. Shock. Censure. He was almost never surprised, and she hated it when he was, hated being the reason for it. It made her feel the way she felt when she was a kid and her parents were hurt or faced with a problem they couldn't solve. _This should not be. It's not the way of the world._

_Oh please, oh please, let him not come here. Let him not find out. Let me not disappoint him…_ She couldn't stand being the reason for that look.

**o.o.o.o.o**

Alex sat by herself in the same room where she'd been questioned 12 hours ago by the same three people who'd escorted her here tonight – the two detectives, and the ADA Judith Dreyfeus.

She was accustomed to spending time in an interview room not entirely sure where things were going, but she wasn't used to doing it alone. The two detectives who'd brought her in hadn't been at the hotel when she'd been taken into custody, but they'd questioned her before she'd been packed into a ghost car and whisked away. Aggressive and dismissive at the scene, Alex had thought rightly that they'd taken their tone from the ADA. When she'd been brought down for a formal interview (in this very room, was it only this morning? It seemed ages ago…), their manner had been different, and Alex was pretty sure it wasn't a play.

Which didn't mean anything, really. No matter how the detectives were feeling about her, they were focusing the investigation on her, that was clear.

Most murder cases were simple, and quickly solved. She had never forgotten that, despite working for over 10 years in the squad that tackled the exceptions to the rule.

While every second of time since discovering Nina Carruthers's body had been horrible, she had kept expecting the other shoe to drop… a break in the case, a clear suspect, compelling evidence pointing to the murderer.

She really hadn't expected to still be here at the end of a long day, still being looked at for the crime. Although she shouldn't have been surprised… the reason why most murders were so easily solved was because usually the motive and the perp were both clear… known not only to the vic, but also to their circle. Someone like, oh, an ex-girlfriend, who happened to have access to the vic in a very convenient setup. Someone like her.

But she'd still expected something to break.

Earlier, she'd had a long phone meeting with the lawyer Ross arranged for her, and had finally agreed to contact her family, although she'd downplayed the situation and implored them not to come out.

For the call, she'd been allowed to have her phone back, and even though she was still in a holding cell in what amounted to her jammies, the conversation had nevertheless made her feel human again. Both Ross and the lawyer had been outraged by the callous treatment she'd received, though all she'd told them was where she was being held. Both had called the precinct to complain (against her wishes), little good though it did.

It was the lawyer who'd finally managed to impress upon her the gravity of her predicament. He'd echoed her concerns about the ADA, and lamented the preponderance of circumstantial evidence implicating her.

"I know that you're supposed to not care, and I know you'll advise me to the best of your ability either way," Alex couldn't bring herself to say the word 'defend', "But I did NOT kill …Carruthers, and even though I know it looks bad, I guess I'm just – amazed – that it's gone this far. How could there not be anything pointing to the person who really did this?"

There was silence on the other end of the line, and Alex squirmed at the realisation that she cared whether or not he believed her. "Well, that's not really our concern right now. My aim is to get them to declare their intentions…"

"You mean to arrest me?" Right now, she was still just being held as a material witness. But they both knew that could change.

"Yes. We'll worry about an alternative theory once they've tipped their hands."

"Meaning once their time's up and they have to charge or release me?" Her lawyer hmm'd noncommittally. "I'm sorry, but I just can't think like that. I've been in the situation of chasing a bad lead, ending up pursuing an innocent person as if they were guilty… I can't help but think that the evidence is _there_… It always is."

"Well Detective Eames, you have no practical method of contributing to this investigation, so you might as well just worry about yourself. In fact, if you want my professional opinion, I recommend that you do so."

So that's where she was. _In no position to make a practical contribution to the investigation._ _Outside the loop_, she thought, smirking at the irony.

And yet, she couldn't take her lawyer's advice and focus on her own position.

In fact, she wasn't taking her lawyer's advice about much of anything. Earlier, when they'd spoken at length, he'd implored her in no uncertain terms to shut her trap and wait for the clock to run out. And to call him if they tried to question her again. But she couldn't shake the notion that she might learn something from an interview that might help her… she knew from long experience that few, if any, people were capable of conducting a prolonged interrogation while revealing nothing of their own position. Only the top detectives even came close. She'd worked with one for 9 years… no-one she'd met so far today measured up.

A less laudable reason why she didn't want to call him was simple shame; she didn't want him to be witness to her downfall. It actually made her wonder about the folks brought in for questioning; she knew that she and Bobby very seldom pushed the wrong person the wrong way… but in what way could a less-seasoned investigator, on purpose or by accident, take unfair advantage of a witness's unwillingness to air their dirty laundry in front of the help?

It wasn't as if she thought she was going to single-handedly solve the case from lockup, present the truth with a flourish, exonerating herself to a round of chagrined or admiring gasps and closing music – after all, when did that ever happen?

But she couldn't stop thinking like a cop. Or rather, after a few hours of being stalled, she'd regained the imperative to think like a cop.

If she thought she could help herself at all, or even just pass the time considering the elements of an investigation, she was critically hamstrung in several. She had no access to evidence, and she had no access to witnesses or their statements.

All she could work on was what she knew about the crime scene, about Nina and the other attendees at the conference, and hopefully draw some useful conclusions that she might be able to slip to the investigators in a way that they would accept.

She trolled her memories for anything from her previous experience of Carruthers that might be probative, but she really couldn't think of anything suspicious, out of character or even out of the ordinary about her brief interactions and observations of the victim from previous years. But as for this year, well, there was a lot of fertile ground to cover…

Alex wished she had a notebook on her.

She felt the change in air pressure as the door opened, but she didn't have the energy to look up.

~.~.~.~.~

**A/N 2:** I'm not happy with this chapter. In fact, I reserve the right to fix it later. But it, along with the several after it, has been complete for ages, and has been just waiting on my muse to sign off on it. I need to get this chapter up so that the next one, which I am way more happy with, can get posted.

Also, I want to say a big thank-you here to all my anon reviewers and the folks who've faved & alerted my fics & me, but who have the PM function turned off so I can't thank them! You are deeply appreciated, even though I can't tell you directly!

Even though I've made you wait so very long, please please review!

WORDS: 1689 UPLOADED Thursday, January 26, 2012

UPDATED Saturday, April 21, 2012


	18. SIMULACRUM

**A/N 1:** I started this chapter ages ago, but had all but decided not to include it in the fic. This isn't the chapter I've been suffering over; the credit for that torture went to Chapter 16. But I felt drawn to this part of the story, and worked on it out of desperation because I couldn't wrangle the Becker interview into anything satisfactory, and – lo and behold! – it has proven to be far more important than I ever would have imagined. See if you can pick up on any of the clues! Dedicated to rindy713, whose review of Chapter 16 gave me a much-needed pick-me-up.

~.~.~.~.~

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: SIMULACRUM**

_Las Vegas  
4:10 PM Sunday afternoon_

The rest of the ride up was silent, except for a few murmured words spoken between the two lovers. Alex tried to take in as little of the tableau as she could manage while staring at their feet. It was impossible, though. Nina Carruthers, her face transformed by affection, filled the periphery of her vision. And Phillip, familiar as he was, drew her eye unbidden.

He seemed genuinely captivated, which relieved her. Alex knew that his pursuit last year of another conference-goer had been calculated; it salved her conscience to know that her dumping Phil hadn't resulted in him carrying on with someone he had no feelings for.

Brrr, she couldn't think about him any more. But Carruthers… it was odd. At first when Phil had introduced her, Alex had had a hard time placing the woman, but her explanation had jogged Alex's memory, and Alex recalled that the woman had made an impression on her. It was just the incongruent image of Carruthers in love with someone like Phil that had tricked Alex's memory.

She remembered Nina Carruthers as a reserved but self-possessed, thoughtful woman who was serious, but not obsessive, about her job and the commitment it represented. The presentation she'd mentioned to Alex – about methodology around collecting DNA evidence – spoke to Alex not only of her professional capability, but also, possibly, of the source of her interest in law enforcement.

Which made the match a bit – perplexing. If anyone had asked her, she would have imagined Ms Dreyfeus's heart finding harbour with someone more… refined.

Not that she was complaining, or comparing. But Alex knew Phil well enough to imagine that he would mistake her respectful diffidence and quiet manners for timidity and disinterest. And while she didn't know Carruthers, she would have guessed many of the adjectives that described Becker would be a repellent rather than an attractor: boisterous, charming, charismatic. M–

The elevator bounced to a stop at their floor, and the doors glided silently open. "I'll walk you two lovely ladies to your room, shall I?" Phil placed his hand gently but firmly in the small of Carruthers' back as he guided her down the hallway. Alex followed, feeling like a sulking middle-school student following the cool kids outside to watch them smoke, because even though she had no interest in them, there was no way to demur without looking petty and weak.

Seeing their casual intimacy, she felt a rush of jealousy and even arousal. Not because she longed for Phil Becker… watching those two touching evinced in her an almost painful yearning for Bobby.

He had never touched her like that. He hardly ever touched her at all. She thought… she'd thought a few times, in the past couple of years, that he _wanted to_. She'd seen something in his eyes, in between the agony and isolation they'd put themselves and each other through recently; an occasional look of passion, ardour, desire. It made her feel thrilled and, out of sorts. Threw her off her game, honestly.

The Mulrooney case was one example. Bobby's caveman routine when he'd thought she'd slept with Mulrooney had made her womb twitch and her nipples hard, even as she'd sniped indignantly at him. His protectiveness and the way he rattled off her home address later had made her dizzy. But the last straw had been the look on his face when they'd been questioning Mulrooney's dad; while the two of them listened to him slathering on the backhanded compliments, saying that she didn't seem Kevin's type, Bobby just stared at her. And it was if he'd spoken the words out loud: _You may not be Kevin's type, but you're mine._

That moment, and that case in general, had made Alex feel as though Bobby had somehow taken ownership of her, a realisation that had left her giddy and nonplussed. As his meaningful, possessive looks – a feature of their relationship for almost a decade – had grown more frequent and less covert, she'd gone into a holding pattern, rebuffing any possible overtures with a laser focus on work.

It wasn't that she didn't want him – she did, _Oh, she did_ – it was just, the timing was so wrong. She felt so raw, exposed, _humiliated_, by Mulrooney – and the comparison… That the amazing, overwhelming, honourable, perspicacious man she shared her professional life with would have such an inside glimpse into her most ignominious liaison, was just too much. And overwhelming? Yeah. It wasn't until she saw the two of them together stooping over Burnham's body that it hit her, how spectacularly _underwhelming_ Kevin was, and that she'd probably picked him for exactly that reason. Alex smiled a little to herself… Joe had intimidated her a little too. Phil? Not so much.

At any rate, she was chiding herself now. What would have happened if she'd asked Bobby to take her out for a drink, then slid her hand across the table to touch his, knowing that if she dared to look at him he would glimpse exactly what she (finally) was ready for him to see.

She tried to imagine what it would be like to be Bobby's lover. Alex cringed. Brrrr, had Becker ruined that word for her? It didn't seem right to use the word _girlfriend_, and partner sounded too cheesy and ambiguous. The one word that fit the best, she couldn't bring herself to utter even in her mind.

Bobby would be the type to touch her, she thought. He'd have his hand at her back like Becker's, as often as he could. He'd reach out to gently tug a wisp of her hair, trace the smooth line of her eyebrows, play with her fingers like a child. In her mind, she could both see and feel him running the backs of his hands down her arms, tickling her feet, putting his arm over the back of her chair to stroke her shoulder.

And more. But she couldn't think about giving herself to Robert Goren while watching Phil's hand wend its way down towards her roommate's tush.

The thought made her heart hurt. Could they ever have that? Recently she'd allowed herself to hope, if only unconsciously, but surrounded by the mess she'd made, right now it seemed unlikely.

**o.o.o.o.o**

"So, Alexandra, you looking forward to the conference?" Phil's pace slowed as they rounded the final corner of the long, square hallway and approached hers and Nina's room.

_No._ She succeeded at biting back the words, but she saw from the smirk on Phil's face that he'd seen her reaction. "Of course," she rallied, "As always. It's one of the highlights of my year." She realised as his smirk grew what she'd actually said.

"Still? Why, is there something you're not telling us? Have you found yourself a new distraction?" Pausing, he turned and grinned at his new paramour. Nina, to her credit, looked dubiously back at him, clearly not enjoying the exchange.

Alex didn't want to be rude, but she couldn't let this one go. "Phil, my personal life was off-limits when we were… friendly; it's certainly none of your business now."

He shrugged elegantly. "Nevertheless… as you must have noticed, things have a way of getting out." In the padded tunnel of the stylish hallway, even Phil's voice seemed muted and far away. Or maybe that was just because her head was spinning.

Alex stiffened; now she was really irate. "Things?" she asked. Up went her chin, and her voice was low and dripping with contempt. "Courtesy of you, no doubt."

Next to Phillip, Nina Carruthers blanched, and Alex actually felt a little bit bad about embarrassing her. She hastened to bid a civil good-bye to her former lover, and as he reluctantly withdrew, Alex unlocked the door and the two women entered their room.

"I'm sorry about that," Nina said as Alex closed the door. Their room was cool and comfortable, decorated in various taupes and camels, with two of everything: queen beds, _chaise longues_, club chairs, and desks, in addition to the little coffee service table. _For Phil's twin girls. How lovely_. The room felt like a prison to Alex, the walls closing in claustrophobically.

"No need to be sorry," she replied. "You certainly aren't responsible for Phil's bad manners. Or mine," she added. They were both still standing in the narrow entranceway, clutching their welcome packages like lifelines. Before she turned away to break the tableau, she saw Nina's delicate features register pain.

"He… shouldn't have said those things," she said a bit cryptically, almost to herself. "It's better just to mind your own business."

"It is that," Alex muttered as she stepped into the washroom to pull herself a water. "But I guess I was his business once, so I really have no grounds to complain."

Nina asked her through the door which bed she wanted, to which Alex replied non-committally; when Alex emerged, she was almost physically shocked to see a huge, framed picture on the bedside table closer to the door. "I see I'm by the window?" she asked, waving at Nina's claiming of the bed she wanted.

Nina, who was rummaging through her huge handbag, looked up at her owlishly. "Is that OK? Because I can take the other one…"

Alex shook her head. "No, no, it really doesn't matter to me. Was this picture taken last year?" She picked up the photograph, which appeared to be a blown-up candid, taken at the conference: Nina and Phillip standing close together at the info desk, the golden hair of the woman on duty visible through the sliver of space between them, and – oddly – Alex, oblivious, in the background about 10 feet behind them.

Nina bounced up and grabbed the picture eagerly. "Yes. Checkout day. Phillip and I had been together four days."

Alex almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation, and her room-mate's casual attitude about sharing a room with her lover's ex. She couldn't think of anything she wanted to say in response, so she just turned away and started unpacking. A little later, ruminating over what she remembered of Nina and the disconnect it seemed to pose, she piped up. "So, do you still see any of your, er, friends that you used to hang out with?"

"No," Nina replied vaguely, "Not really. No time, now." She looked up and smiled. "Well, one. Just one, actually. We work together now."

"In Tahoe?"

"Yeah."

"And Phil…lip…" Out of respect for the woman, Alex added the rest of his given name, "Has he come to visit you in, er, Tahoe?"

"Yeah, a few times." Nina's face lit up with pride, then her gaze turned furtive and apologetic.

Alex nodded. "Good," she said cautiously. "If that's what you want, it's good that he made the effort."

"Sorry," Nina said again. "I, um, I know he didn't visit you."

Christ the woman was tactless. Difficult to dislike, though, since she was both well-meaning and oblivious. "I didn't want him to," she replied coolly. It was the truth.

A few minutes later, after apparently checking her cell phone messages, Nina spoke again. "He's very courtly."

Smirking to herself, Alex replied, "He can be."

"Have you ever met anyone like him?" Alex looked up to see Nina barefoot and cross-legged on her bed, for all the world like a tween at a sleepover. Choking back both sarcasm and irritation, she tried to remain neutral. She was not going to 'talk about boys' with this woman. Especially about who she'd known who had been 'like' him…

"In what way?"

"In any way." Nina appeared genuinely serious and curious. "You seem to attract powerful, fascinating men, is all. What's your secret?"

_Powerful, fascinating men?_ Thinking of Bobby, Joe, Phil, Mulrooney and others, she said, "One or two. And my secret? I don't think I have one."

Nina shook her head and looked intently at her. "I… I think there must be something. I'm not – adroit – with men, as you probably noticed. You clearly are."

Mystified and uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, Alex said the first thing that occurred to her. "Well, I guess if anything, I just try not to seem too interested. I don't mean playing games, I just mean being a bit… reticent. And I try not to commit myself emotionally too soon."

Nina shook her head again and smiled ruefully. "I've been doing that all my life, and it's never worked, except for the occasional weirdo. Until Phillip."

Not wanting to compare Phil unflatteringly to the woman's usual weirdos, Alex kept silent.

~.~.~.~.~

**A/N 2:** I know this chapter seems to end abruptly, but there's a reason why. BTW, the person I picture when I'm writing Becker is the guy on _The Mentalist_. My Isle is the gal who played Kitty Sanchez (the spacey assistant the dad ran away with to Mexico) on _Arrested Development_. And the song referenced in chapter 17 is Leonard Cohen's _Famous Blue Raincoat_, and the lyric Isle is thinking of is, _'And thanks… for the trouble you took from her eyes. I thought it was there for good, so I never tried.'_

WORDS: 2326 UPLOADED Friday, March 30, 2012


	19. RECONNAISSANCE

**A/N 1:** OK so I said I had in mind actors for Becker, Isle and Carruthers. I now have a Dreyfeus: Lana Parilla, the evil queen from _Once Upon a Time_.

~.~.~.~.~

**CHAPTER NINETEEN: RECONNAISSANCE**

_Las Vegas  
10:30PM Monday evening_

Bobby was walking out the front doors of The Mandalay when his phone rang. It was the two detectives, Heit and Estevez, the ones heading the investigation into the Carruthers killing.

"Goren," he said.

The sidewalk and street outside the hotel were wet; a light rain had fallen while he'd been inside, but the sky was already beginning to clear. It was a welcome sight to Bobby… symbolic of his desire to sweep aside the angst and cobwebs and wet cotton he'd felt his skull filled with for the past few hours. Except for playing Dreyfeus at the bar, he'd felt like he'd been on his heels ever since hearing the news about Eames in Ross's office.

Time for that to change.

He signalled one of the bellhops for a cab while he settled details with the detective, agreeing to their suggestion of a neutral meeting place for a heads together to compare notes far away from curious ears at the conference and the precinct. And away from the ADA.

It was amazing how something as seemingly inconsequential as a phone call could put him back on track. Bobby thought about the other times in his life when a crisis had intruded on his work life: his mom's illness, Eames's kidnapping, his brother… all had been thrust upon him. All had left him unbalanced, on edge, mistrusting all the tools he usually counted on to get the job done. When he was tackling a case for work, he felt capable and in control… even when the people or circumstances were precarious. When he was forced to deal with things that affected him personally, it felt as though none of his pistons were firing in sync. He felt like nothing just came to him, everything had to be manufactured or excavated.

Those two minutes on the phone with Heit and Estevez made him fall back in sync with the investigation. They'd been thinking along the same lines as he… and even better, they had been the ones to suggest a course of action.

He'd badly wanted to have a chance to chat with them about the case; where they were at with the interviews, if there was anything new with the evidence… what they thought about Eames. He'd gotten the impression from the taped interview Ross had emailed him on the plane that at the beginning at least, they weren't as quick to condemn her as Dreyfeus had been… He needed to know if that had changed.

And there were certain things he was willing to share with them, particularly if their meeting went well and he was comfortable with their direction; he already had confidence in their skills.

Bobby was actually a bit surprised by the way they'd framed the invitation; Heit, actually, since he was the one who'd been on the line. The detective hadn't come right out and said that they wanted to avoid Dreyfeus, but he'd intimated it.

It was very interesting. Did they share his suspicions about the ADA?

**o.o.o.o.o**

Heit had suggested a diner off the strip, about halfway between The Mandalay and the precinct where Eames was being held. He found himself fretting briefly about the delay in seeing her, but he knew it was in his best interest to set his impatience aside.

They were already there when Bobby arrived, and he stood in the shadows by the front window for a few moments to observe them.

They both looked shabby and a little bit the worse for wear, but still with the hungry, businesslike look of homicide detectives.

What would have happened to him if he'd gone into Homicide? He'd never been drawn to that department, although he knew he was up for it. Not the right personality, maybe. Homicide detectives were a bit scrappier, a bit more gregarious. A tribe unto themselves, even moreso than Narcotics. Narcotics officers were shaped by their environment, but homicide detectives were shaped by their occupation, in the manner of chess players and engineers. He thought to himself that maybe he hadn't wanted to be molded that way. He'd wanted to have a bit more control over what his job did to him. Also, homicide detectives needed to work together, and for a long time he'd thought he couldn't do that.

Heit and Estevez looked solid. She was younger than him, but still self-assured and professional. Ross had said in his email that Heit was an eighteen year veteran, and Estevez had twelve. Four years and a bit together, ever since Estevez had earned her shield. They were, by all accounts, straight up and dependable. Good solve rate, no issues.

Bobby had a moment of doubt. Could he risk talking to them? Could a mis-step on his part sour the angles he was pursuing?

Playing it right with them wouldn't be as delicate as it had been with Dreyfeus, but he had nevertheless put some thought into how he wanted to come across. He needed their cooperation, and ideally, their trust. If nothing else, he needed their information.

**o.o.o.o.o**

"So who do you like for it?" Bobby asked casually, staring at the casefile the two detectives had given him to read. In addition to photos and witness statements, the booth where the three detectives sat was littered with empty coffee cups, a dirty ashtray, and the remains of three slices of pie.

The Heit and Estevez had stood to shake his hand when he arrived, and had greeted him coolly, but agreeably.

He assumed that what they'd shown him over the past 25 minutes was most, if not all they had… either way, they'd covered a lot of ground already. With everyone but Lieutenant Becker. He was beginning to have an inkling why Dreyfeus was protecting him from scrutiny.

Re-reading the Eames transcript broke his heart, even without the video, but other than that, there wasn't much to pique his interest.

Heit and Estevez looked at each other. "It's really too early to say," Estevez supplied.

"The law enforcement angle requires an extra-delicate hand," Heit added.

"We're focusing on evidence and interviews."

"And waiting for the forensics."

Bobby shook his head. They were smooth, delivering the party lines with ease and sincerity, but he was smarter than that. "C'mon, remember who you're talking to. You're not waiting for anything. What's the focus of your investigation? Who?"

"Well," Estevez said carefully, "Right now the focus of the investigation is on your partner."

Their faces were both neutral masks, betraying little beyond their words. Little, not nothing. Estevez's mouth tightened minutely as she spoke – a downward curve of disgust.

Bobby repeated his question, watching the two detectives closely. "Who do you like for it?" he said softly.

They looked at each other and, in the manner of a good team, came to a decision that seemed to ease some of their subtle tension. "Well," Estevez said, "We're not liking your partner."

Bobby nodded, keeping his face blank, though inside he was sagging with relief. He knew what had prompted their reticence… they'd been primed by Dreyfeus to expect him to be against Eames. They were even a bit disapproving, although trying to hide it. Good! Good for them. He thought about whether or not to disabuse them of their assumptions. Would he be able to get their full cooperation if they thought he was capable of obstructing them?

His turn had come. "Me neither."

**o.o.o.o.o**

His gaze was met with mild scepticism as he glanced back and forth between them. Then, before he could adjure them to listen to their guts – no doubt the same organs that had prompted them to reach out to him in the first place – they nodded, perfectly in sync despite not looking at each other, and leaned forward as one, in a gesture of solidarity not only between them, but towards him.

"Good. We thought you'd been brought in to help bury her."

At those words, Bobby felt something in his chest ease. It was a relief to know that someone else saw what he saw. That he wasn't the only one fighting to swim upstream.

"I was," he almost spat. Their attention and the fierceness that he could feel burning in his eyes seemed to draw an invisible forcefield around them, pulling them tighter together while pushing the rest of the world away. "But – whoever that was, doesn't know me very well."

After that, the conversation flowed. They spoke frankly about the two detectives' suspicions that – despite their confidence in her innocence – Eames wasn't being completely truthful.

"She's hiding something, and it's not helping her."

"She is. But it has nothing to do with the murder. Don't worry though, I'll get it out of her when I interview her." He'd already begun thinking about the upcoming interrogation. Purely from a procedural standpoint, he hoped that she'd be able to tell him something they didn't already know; but personally, the closer he came to actually seeing her, the more urgently he felt the need to know _how she felt about Becker_. Did she still want the blond Lieutenant? Had she loved him? Did she love him still?

Goren also brought up one of his two most pressing questions, which was what Carruthers had done during her absence from the hotel room.

"Have you verified any of the deceased's movements when she was out of the room?" The words came easily, now that he was sinking more thoroughly into the job at hand his wrists didn't ache with worry for Eames.

"No, but the ADA's convinced that Detective Eames made up the story about the vic leaving. She's having us work up the angle that Detective Eames used the vic's room key herself, after the murder." Heit related the information neutrally, but his subtle twitches and Estevez's scowl told him they didn't approve of an ADA having them _work an angle_.

"Just because the ADA thinks it doesn't make it true," Bobby felt compelled to retort.

"Just because she says it doesn't mean she thinks it," Estevez replied.

"And just because that's what Carruthers told Detective Eames, doesn't mean it's what she actually did." The two Vegas detectives nodded when he said that. Corroboration, that was what was needed. He hoped that was in their plan. "Well whatever turns out to be true, I think we shouldn't shirk on devoting resources to getting something solid on Carruthers's activities, whatever she did that evening."

"We're on it, actually. We had a couple of uniforms ask around, but we're planning on going back to The Mandalay and questioning people tonight."

Goren told them about the dance, and they said they already knew.

They also discussed Patsy Isle.

"Did you know she was in charge of the room designations?" The two detectives nodded. "I haven't figured her out yet, but I think there's something there." He didn't have a good reason to make the request, but he needed to assuage his unease about the twitchy woman. "Do we know much about her? Can we get her jacket?" At their acknowledgement, he added, "And anything else we can lay our hands on?"

"We were thinking of dropping by to interview her tonight," Heit said. "But maybe…"

Estevez finished his sentence. "…we should ask her to come down instead."

"Do it," Goren answered them. "But no hurry. Let's learn all we can about her first. And I wouldn't mind knowing a bit more about Carruthers while we're at it."

The two detectives agreed, and while Estevez called someone at the precinct to get the files he'd asked for, Goren examined their washed-out faces under the standard-issue diner fluorescents. New York, Vegas, wherever, dives like this were the same all over. Now that he'd come clean to them a bit, revealed himself, he could see the curiosity bubbling up in them. He owed them as much honesty as they'd given him… He tapped the table with a slow, steady rhythm. "You got anything you wanna ask me?"

Turned out they were curious about Lieutenant Becker, who they'd been champing at the bit to get at but had been thwarted thus far. He told them about Becker's answers, how the grieving boyfriend had acted, and Goren's impressions of the veracity of his statement, particularly his whereabouts the night of the murder.

They also asked him about the rumours going around about him, Eames, Becker and others… he repeated what he'd heard from Ross, that someone seemed to know a lot about them, but the information was old, drying up at least a year ago.

Before they broke to head back to the precinct, Goren had one more thing he needed to put on the table. "Dreyfeus should be very pleased to have two such sensible detectives taking the lead on this." He looked up slyly, knowing that they'd see the play for what it was.

Despite that, they didn't disappoint. At the words, both Heit and Estevez leaned back a bit and squirmed.

"Or not," Bobby added. Their reactions confirmed his suspicion, so he threw them a bone. "Becker suspects Dreyfeus. Do you?"

**o.o.o.o.o**

He never would have met Eames. That's what would have happened to him if he had gone into Homicide. He would never have met Eames.

~.~.~.~.~

WORDS: 2264 UPLOADED Sunday, April 15, 2012

_**If you can read this, please review, my pretties!**_


	20. RABBIA, AMORE, PIETA', DESIDERIO

**AN 1:** OMG I have literally been waiting to write this chapter for 2 years. And fretting over it. And then on March 31, 2012, it just sprang out fully formed, like Athena from the forehead of Zeus.

Huge thanks to awesome authors Metisse & Weathergirl, for their invaluable input and guidance regarding the all-important upcoming interrogation scenes. Ladies, I took your suggestions thoroughly to heart, but I hope I will still surprise you! And if anyone's burning with 'rabbia' after reading this chapter, don't blame W or M! They didn't know what direction I was going in, they just did an expert job of helping me read the map of where I'd been.

One of my inspirations for this chapter was the interrogation scene in the movie _True Lies_. Heh.

And to anyone who thinks Bobby's way too harsh in this chapter, all I can say is the Robert Goren I know has it in him. And he has two really good reasons for doing it.

To quote Hannibal Lecter, _this is really gonna hurt_.

~.~.~.~.~

**CHAPTER TWENTY: RABBIA, AMORE, PIETA', DESIDERIO**

_LVPD Interrogation Room 1 Las Vegas  
12:31AM Tuesday morning_

Bobby sat down with his back facing the mirror and slapped his binder down, then straightened his tie. "Detective Eames," he said by way of greeting.

What the _fuck_ was going on? Realising that Bobby was her visitor was a physical shock to Alex, equal almost to the moment she found Carruthers. Here was her _partner_ of all people, sitting in front of her with – not only a visitor's badge, but some other official LVPD insignia – and out of his binder spilled Nina Carruthers's _casefile_, complete with _pictures_. She felt darkness creeping in around the edges of her vision.

"What's going on here Bobby, are you… are you, on the job? With Major Case?" She could hear the hope in her own voice, cringed at the futility thereof. "Are you… _investigating_ me?"

"Detective Goren, if you please," he muttered, his carefully blank face panicking and enraging her more than even his audacious words. "I'm here at the request of LVPD and the DA's office, to assist them with their investigation." He leaned back and looked at her while he fiddled with his tie.

What? It _couldn't_ be. He wouldn't help them. He wouldn't help – _that woman_. But her own thoughts and Dreyfeus's words from earlier in the day came back to mock her… Dreyfeus had said he'd just been on his way out for drinks… with her? Had the ADA spun him around just like so many others had, until he didn't know his partner from a hole in the ground?

No, it _couldn't_ be. As close to physically ill as she'd been during this whole ordeal, Alex glanced around the tiny room for the wastebasket, in case her hours-ago dinner decided to come back up. Even as her partner nodded balefully towards the grey cylinder in the corner, all the possible scenarios to explain his presence collided in her head with sparks and the almost palpable sensation of twisting metal.

Unpredictable. The man she loved, worked with, would take a bullet for, gnashed her teeth over, occasionally wanted to strangle, was first and foremost unpredictable. Would he do this to her because he thought she was guilty? Would he do it because he was infatuated with the ADA? Out of curiosity? Because he was _following orders_ for the second time ever?

She felt her face grow hot as injustice bubbled up, threatening to cut off her breath. "No!" she bit out, jumping up and kicking her chair back, "I'm not doing this!" She smacked her hand on the table, hard. "Not with you!" For the second time today, she felt tears pricking behind her eyes… on top of everything, she couldn't handle having to go through this with _him_ here, judging her, ferreting out the secrets she'd kept from him, flirting with the ADA. She scrunched her whole face up, willing the moisture back where it came from, conscious of how unattractive she must seem. To the peanut gallery behind the glass. To Bobby.

"Detective Eames." Bobby's voice was quiet and soft, his _reasonable_ voice. She cursed herself for the wretched softening she felt in response to hearing her name spoken _that way_. "As I said, I'm here at the request of LVPD and the DA's office, to assist them with their investigation. Sit down please." She peeled back her sticky, gritty eyelids and looked glumly down at him.

He looked good, she had to admit to herself. Better than the Bobby of her imaginings. Freshly shaven, wearing her favourite tie and the cufflinks she gave him last Christmas… Neat and pressed and contained, just the way she liked him. Well, one of the ways she liked him. She found herself wondering what time he'd arrived, what had he been up to? Was he wearing the same suit he'd flown in on? The same one he'd put on this morning? It didn't look like it. Except for a couple of brief periods, he'd always taken great care with his appearance during interrogations; they were something he planned for, like a date. Had he prepared carefully for this debacle? Was he planning to take her down?

She was glad to see him, she realised. She could feel herself relaxing in his presence despite the extra stress he'd brought with him into the room.

Meanwhile, he just kept staring at her. His dark eyes hungry, she felt, for any morsel she exposed to his sight.

Still fiddling with his tie.

She looked down at his restless fingers playing over the smooth ribbon of silk. A kind of a funny red, like the shade of everything wild and tame inside him. _Rage, love, mercy, desire_.

And the cufflinks. Black Onyx, for the 'O' in his name, she'd told him. And for his eyes, she'd told herself.

"Have you seen Lieutenant Becker since the murder?"

"N-no, of course not," she stuttered.

"Why not? He's free now, isn't he?" She blanched at the question, but he continued, tipping his head like a bobble-head doll. "D'ya think he'd take you back?"

**o.o.o.o.o**

Alex felt the blood drain from her face – surprised that there was any left after this day of horrible firsts – while her mind raced. She felt the sweat beading under her palms as she forced herself to settle in the chair. _Feel your sitting bones_, her sister's yoga instructor used to say. _Feel yourself connected to the earth, no matter where you are_.

He knew about her and Phillip.

Of course he knew, he'd read the casefile. But still, hearing it was a shock.

_He would have learnt sooner or later_, she rationalised, although everything she'd said and done over the past 18 hours had been to preclude that eventuality.

Still trying to take in the implications of Bobby's question, she shifted to mirror his stance, his stillness. His eyes moved to the handprints she'd left on the bare table, then back to meet her gaze, a ghost of a shit-eating grin on his face.

A grin she longed to wipe away. "I dunno, why don't you ask him?"

Hah! He showed brief surprise at her retort, and she revelled in the tiny victory. She felt her spine stiffening, preparing to defend herself. She would fight, she had it in her. For her pride, for her freedom, and for the bastions around her heart. She'd fought her partner many times before, but always when she'd had the upper hand. It wouldn't be pretty. Would she end up flayed and shredded and trembling as she'd left him in the past? Perhaps it was fitting.

But he quickly rallied. "I did," he muttered, tilting his head as was his wont. "And what if I told you he, ah, said you'd be the most convenient solution? To the problem of who murdered Nina Carruthers?" His words held a mere hint of adenoidal drawl.

"I'd say that we both know you're allowed to lie to suspects, but that sounds like him." Firmly seated, her back ramrod straight, nausea banished, she forced herself to meet her partner's eyes. Firing off zingers in the interrogation room was familiar at least. Made her feel a tiny bit more herself.

"How does it make you feel that he'd throw you under the bus like that? Cuz, if it were me I'd feel pretty crappy."

Bobby's delivery, calm and smooth, was grating on her nerves. She marshalled her irritation and snapped back at him, "Really? Because he doesn't seem to me like your type."

Bobby's jaw twitched slightly but he didn't move. "Just answer the question, Detective."

"I do feel pretty crappy," she growled, "But not because of Lieutenant Becker. Unless he killed Carruthers."

"Really?" Bobby ignored her veiled question. "But you must feel something. I mean, you were lovers for what, seven years?"

Alex blanched, then kicked herself as Bobby noticed her reaction with interest. Facing the fact that he knew so much about her and Phillip made her skin crawl with embarrassment. She cringed at the words, accurate though they were, feeling a need to defend against them. "We didn't see each other outside the conferences."

"Aah," he said, nodding. "So it was a matter of… convenience… for the two of you?"

OK that was worse. "That's not how I would have characterised – it."

"Oh? How would you describe your – ah – liaisons?"

She swallowed, arguing internally the futility of finding something to rub in his face. So far she'd been vascillating between rage, terror and humiliation, but finally his measured, carefully worded questions were making her stabby. With all due respect to the deceased.

"A fling," she said finally. "We were having – a fling."

"A fling!" He exclaimed, raising his hands in mock triumph. "A few days of escape, huh? Like that Bernard Slade play, _Same Time Next Year_."

She nodded cautiously.

"Except that those two, they got married in the end if I recall," he deadpanned.

**o.o.o.o.o**

"What about CCTV?" She blurted. "There must be video."

After his last jab about Becker, Bobby had left off grilling her about her relationship with the ersatz Lieutenant, and ignoring Alex completely, had balanced his portfolio on his knee and shown her his back while he scribbled.

Her burst of adrenaline leeching away in the stillness, Alex felt every second of her long day and realised, she was on the verge of really losing it. The knowledge that Bobby had seen the casefile, knew all about her and Phillip… Read her evasive answers, canny enough to know instantly she was hiding something. Saw the pictures of her in her bare legs and feet, being taken into custody as a material witness by a parade of uniforms.

What did he think of her? What was he thinking right now? Staring at his broad back as he leaned over and flung his tie over one shoulder, brought to mind unbidden a memory of seeing him in his shirtsleeves once, cuffs rolled up to reveal his smooth strong forearms. That had been a long time ago, before she'd loved him. But the image stuck; power, prowess, and somehow, humility.

The thought of losing all that, and the fear of what was to come when he finally turned, wrapped around her heart and squeezed, leaving her in pain and gasping, the lone witness to what might be the end of her briefly-nurtured dreams.

Stiffening but not looking up, Bobby started as if to say something, then pursed his lips and made a show of stretching and straightening his sleeves and shirt cuffs. His pen stilled as he turned to show her his profile. "The video's been gathered and is being reviewed," he muttered. "It'll be, ah, an important part of our case."

"But not against me," she snapped.

"We'll see," he replied.

**o.o.o.o.o**

"How did you feel when you first saw me?"

Lost in thought, she hadn't noticed her partner turn back from his note-taking and re-focus his attention on her.

Trying to formulate an answer to his unexpected question, she examined the tableau she and Bobby made. His right hand and her left were so close to each other, she could have reached out a finger and touched him. His presence was calming, despite everything about it that was making her position more precarious.

She noticed that there was sweat on his brow, but his cheek was a tiny bit papery, as though he were dehydrated. She found herself biting back an admonition that he take better care of himself.

The familiar brown eyes that she'd been forcing herself to look directly at were alert but bleary, the skin pale and creased. This had been a very long day for him… with the time difference, he'd been up for the better part of 24 hours. Something he'd shrugged off many a time, but still it wasn't good for him.

And he seemed… different. In the minutes since he'd finished grilling her about Becker, something in his aspect had changed, a tiny bit. Perhaps the tilt of his head was less bullish, perhaps the curl of contempt was gone from his mouth. It eased her, drew her in.

And she noticed, Bobby hadn't yet whipped himself into one of his trademark lathers, but yet there was a peculiar energy about him. He'd refrained from any of his usual stress-relieving physical gestures such as jiggling his leg or rubbing the back of his neck; the nervous tension she thought she saw in him was evident in the rigid way he held his neck and shoulders, and in the way he'd make a fist, then look down at it puzzled, then carefully relax.

Alex on the other hand knew her behaviour had been rife with 'tells'. She'd caught herself more times than she'd have liked, being forced to look away, hiding behind her hair, tossing her head like an agitated mare. She'd heard her voice go tight and brittle, crack even, with fury and stress.

And yet she hadn't lied. Oh, she'd lied earlier, to the detectives who'd first interviewed her. About minor things, things she'd thought she'd never be called on, _because she was innocent_! A mistake, perhaps.

And Bobby's tack had been rather more obscure than that which she'd been reluctant to respond to earlier, and yet she'd been completely truthful with the man across the table from her. The man she couldn't read, whose mien was out of context with his approach, whose questions seemed to go nowhere, and who'd almost seemed to reach out to her once or twice.

She had no angle, no traction. Was he being directed by the ADA? Was Dreyfeus, or Bobby himself, getting anything useful out of her answers? Was he playing a deeper game than even she could recognise? The relatively dim but somehow piercing lights pounded against her forehead like a sledgehammer, and suddenly she was so very _tired_.

_This is how they break you_, she thought. But there was nothing she could do. He was her partner, and she would tell him the truth.

Trying not to think of the ghoulish Dreyfeus and her unnatural hunger to feast on Alex's fragilities, she answered. "I – Bobby…" The informal address slid from her lips unbidden. His eyes widened briefly, but he didn't chide her. "For a second, I was, glad. I've missed you." Disgusted at herself, she couldn't help but sniffle a bit. "Then I was afraid." Was it her imagination, or did his expression soften for a microsecond at her admission?

Fuck, she'd given him an opening. Now would have been the perfect moment to pounce. But he bunted. "Afraid? Why?" Alex rolled her eyes. "Because…?"

He had softened, she hadn't imagined it. His face was still carefully blank, but he'd leaned imperceptibly towards her. Phantoms of a thousand manipulated perps danced around her, but she shooed them away. He _couldn't be _playing her. He _wouldn't_.

But it didn't matter anyway. She could feel her reserves finally emptying, and with that clicked open the locks and bindings keeping her together. Like a bath left running too long, the overflow – too great to be contained – began to slowly spill over the edge.

"Because you're the best," she said, her voice husky from the moisture going down her throat.

She watched her partner's breath hitch as he looked keenly at her for a long moment, then shook his head and turned away. "The best detective," he said softly, and she shrugged.

"The best," she repeated, watching him as for the first time he wouldn't meet her eyes. When he finally did look at her, she felt the full force of the Goren Stare for the first time since he'd raked her over the coals during the Burnham case.

"But you have nothing to hide, do you Alex," he murmured, and although the fear was back as she could feel herself careening towards an actual confession, mesmerised despite herself by this man's burning gaze, something in his voice, his quiet taut demeanour, touched her body in a wholly carnal way. For the first time in their entire partnership, she was going to surrender to him rather than fighting.

"No," she said forlornly. This time a couple of tears made it past her lashes, and she no longer fought them. This wasn't Detective Goren interrogating a suspect, it was just him and her, talking. Even as she wondered if this was going to end badly, wondered what Dreyfeus and the other detectives thought of her, she felt herself surrendering. She was in a room with the best person, her favourite person, and she just couldn't hold it together any more. Let him get what he came here for – whatever that was – and everything else be damned.

"Alex," his voice was soft. "Why him? Why Phillip Becker?"

There were no tissues in the room so she wiped her face with her forearm, even as she felt herself gearing up for a really good cry. Belying her recent thought about openness, now she backpedalled.

"Bobby," she mumbled, shaking her head, "That's not important. What's important is…"

"I decide what's important," he said fiercely, abruptly bouncing up and pacing behind his chair. "Why. Him."

She shook her head again and closed her eyes, not wanting to look at him as she felt herself crumpling in front of him. "Don't make me say it."

The room was deathly still, so much so that Alex could feel it through her skin though her eyes were closed and her own pulse was pounding in her ears. Her partner, whose very presence pulsed with life, energy and movement, felt to her remaining senses like a lifeless hulk. Or rather, in stasis, hanging in suspended animation over the edge of the table.

Feeling as though the truth was already hanging in the air, she swallowed a gag and answered. "Because he… he reminded me of Joe." Saying the words made her feel so exposed, so ashamed, she only barely registered the tapping on the one-way glass, one of the observers conveying a message. She felt the change in air pressure as Bobby dropped back into his seat with a heavy sigh.

Alex peeked at her partner through hooded eyes to see him scowling pensively at his binder. He licked his lips. "For the record, Detective," he muttered, "The 'Joe' you're referring to is your deceased husband, Detective Joe Dutton?"

"Yes," she hissed, directing all the resentment of that one word towards the person on the other side of the glass who was prodding her partner.

"And… how long has he been deceased?" Slumping over his portfolio, Bobby looked as tired and defeated as she felt, his apparent capitulation leaving her perversely afraid. Robert Goren asking rote questions for the record was not what she was used to.

"Almost 12 years." So long ago.

Bobby stared at her blearily. "But you're still not over him," he stated rather than asked.

Alex could recall the moment, shortly after they'd arrested Manny Beltran for her husband's murder, when she'd realised that she'd been over him for a long time. "On the contrary, I am."

"But you're dating his avatar."

"Not any more," she muttered.

Bobby didn't miss a beat. "You still have a picture of him at your bedside." He'd been in her bedroom on two occasions; Gage and Burnham. But he hadn't seen it recently.

"Not any more."

"Why not?"

She thought about the day she'd packed up all her pictures of her dead husband, the bedspread his grandmother had made them, and put them in storage. She thought about _why_ she'd done it. _Who_ she'd done it for. "It's not really – I can't –" like a little girl, she wanted to crawl under the table and hide.

Bobby's face lit up with an utterly unwholesome, feral grin, then he scowled. "Were you afraid of putting off a… _gentleman caller_? Becker?"

"No."

"But you were working your way up to something."

"Not with –" Alex stopped herself, aware of what she'd almost said. "I chose Phillip Becker because he was safe. An escape. A way to – get, something, I thought I needed – with no strings."

"If there were no strings, then how did you feel when he dumped you?"

She frowned, stung by his contemptuous tone and confused by the question. "Dumped? Me? Is that what he told you?"

"Do I have to remind you again who's asking the questions?" Her partner had regained some of his vitality, his body twitching as he drummed a tattoo on the table with his strong fingers.

"Again, _Detective_. Is that what he told you?"

He just looked at her. There was another tap on the window.

"He didn't dump me, as I'm sure you well know. I – ended it."

"You –" At that he seemed genuinely surprised. How could he not know? That bastard Phillip. "When?"

"Last year."

His obsidian eyes bored into her, and she couldn't look away. She could see the gears turning in his head, see him counting the hours and days and months, counting back to the moment – although he didn't know it, nor had she in fact – when she'd decided to give herself to him. She felt something shift and bloom in her chest as she witnessed him figuring it out; the scowl was gone, and a look of almost boyish hope and wonder had replaced it. What if it wasn't too late? What if she hadn't ruined everything? Relief accomplished what eighteen hours of badgering had failed to do, and Alex propped her elbows on the table and wept openly into her hands.

"Why?" he whispered.

She managed to choke out a reply. "Because I, I was ready to move on."

"With… someone?" Came his wistful voice.

She heard the door open. "Detective!" The ADA hissed through the crack.

~.~.~.~.~

**A/N 2:** The title of this chapter is from the easy listening Italian pop song 'Il Sole e La Luna' by Ron. I think of G&E when I listen to it, AKA the moon and the sun.

_Little man you know not how I loved_

_On the nights of summer, winter…_

_(~ rage ~ love ~ mercy ~ desire ~)_

_But you were chasing your misery._

Eames is Goren's spinach… and reviews are mine!

WORDS: 3912 UPLOADED Tuesday, June 5, 2012


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